


And the Void Gazed Back

by TheVulgarBookworm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Breeding Kink, Cock & Ball Torture, Comfort No Hurt, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Undertones, Draco Malfoy in Panties, Extremely Underage, Face Slapping, Father/Son Incest, Incest, Large Cock, Light Bondage, Light Sadism, Lingerie, Lucius Malfoy's Pimp Cane, M/M, Malfoycest (Harry Potter), Masturbation, Medical Kink, Misgendering, Misuse of house-elves, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Prostitution, Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Discovery, Self-Flagellation, Semi-Public Sex, Strangulation, Surprises, Top Lucius Malfoy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23922364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulgarBookworm/pseuds/TheVulgarBookworm
Summary: Draco knows just how wrong it is, but he's powerless to stop it from happening.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Other(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 375





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> Because this world needs more Malfoycest!
> 
> I should say up front though, that I in no way shape or form condone this in the real world. This story is a work of fiction. 
> 
> Now, I have envisioned this story (as if I don't have enough to write) as a series of interludes throughout Draco's school years. Each chapter is a different interlude and some chapters will be longer while others might be quite brief. I'm actually experimenting with writing short little smutty bits, but it's me and I just can't seem to give out gifts that don't have any wrapping paper or pretty little plot bows on them. So there's a plot bow. It's a tiny one though. 
> 
> Anyway, this first chapter takes place during Draco's first year, so turn around if you can't handle that. If you think I missed a tag, let me know. I think I got all the improtant ones, but it's really late.

Draco Malfoy stood nervously before the roaring fire in the giant fireplace, and before the figure seated in the chair before it, little more than an outline: a dark silhouette, an arm holding a glass of amber liquid, a foot tapping in irritation. He tried to stand still, to hide his nervousness as a Malfoy was meant to, but he knew what was coming, and his small body shook in fearful anticipation because there was nothing he could do to stop it. The glass disappeared into the inky blackness, and returned empty, only to be set down on the table beside the chair. 

That impatient tapping stopped.

Draco watched, his every muscle strung tight, trying to catch a glimpse of the room's only other occupant. All he could see was the deliberate movement of the arm, the glass slowly being refilled.

There was a long pause and a gesture he had held out hope wouldn't come, and then once again the glass disappeared into the void.

Draco's hands were numb as he lifted them to the front of his robes, his trembling fingers working the buttons clumsily. He knew that he was helpless to do anything other than as commanded, and each small, nuanced gesture was as much a command as if it had been spoken aloud. 

At last he divested himself of his robes, and stood before the silhouette and the fire in nothing except a pair of tiny lace knickers, barely large enough to cover his small, limp- cock, he's been told to call it, and been punished for not doing so, his small, limp cock and smooth balls. The knickers he wore were pink. He hated them, but he didn't wear them by choice. Draco resisted the instinct to cover himself, and swallowing nervously, kept his hands at his sides as he waited for instruction.

The figure before him didn't move for the longest time. Draco licked his lips. He didn't know for certain at least, but he assumed there was no movement. Hidden from view, anything could be happening, and he would never know.

In a single fluid motion, the figure stood, detaching itself from the outline of the chair, and stood off to the side. Even though Draco could see no defining features whatsoever from the inky figure, there was no mistaking the refined elegance in the way the shadow carried itself. It was an elegance to which he had always aspired, and he had always hoped to one day carry it off with a similar effortless grace.

The glass found its way onto the table again, and that same hand lifted, jewels shining in the light, beckoning him forward.

Draco walked with as much confidence as he could muster, stopping an arm's length before the figure. Even up close, it was somehow still nothing more than a dark void. He was no closer to seeing the figure revealed, not that he really needed it. Draco knew who stood before him. He had seen that face every day, had felt the strong, steely fingers that gripped him by the shoulder now often enough.

It was not the first time that steely grip had guided him to his knees, nor was it the first that it had grasped his wrist to bring his hand to the obvious bulge in front of his face. Draco brought up his other hand, and went to work on the button fly with stiff fingers, thinking how strange it was that he could see perfectly well in this room, and yet see nothing of this man before him at all. 

Strong fingers on his jaw pried open his mouth. A careless, vice-like grip on the back of his neck pulled him forward. Draco’s mouth was suddenly invaded by the hot column of velvet covered steel that could be one thing only.

He wanted to spit it out, to turn his head and retch on the floor. Draco made a pitiful sound of protest, and the shadow withdrew suddenly. There was barely time to feel relief, because the careless hand at the back of his neck shifted. It wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard, cutting off both blood and air. His hands flew up to pry at those steel fingers to no avail, and the hand so recently holding his jaw let go.

It struck him twice in quick succession, his ears ringing from the force of the blow, and the hand choking him throttled him mercilessly. He gurgled helplessly as he clawed at the hand. His legs kicked weakly against the floor. He fought for a single, minute breath and was ruthlessly denied. 

Draco's eyes rolled back. His fingers lost their grip on the hand at his throat and his arms fell limply at his sides. He didn't even feel his head strike the floor when that shadow finally released him.

When he regained consciousness, he was on his back. That dark void surrounded his head, blocking out his vision, and filled his throat, a repeated invasion that had him gagging uncontrollably as he choked on it. Draco thrashed beneath the assault, attempting to push his attacker away. The immovable force above him remained unconcerned. He found his head tilted back the slightest bit, allowing for the deepest invasion yet, and then a heavy weight settled over the front of his throat cutting off even the little bits of air he had managed before.

His head swam. His lungs were on fire. His limbs grew weak.

Draco just knew that he was going to black out again, he could feel it coming, but suddenly the cloying shadow surrounding him retreated to leave him in a shuddering heap as he coughed out his guts onto the floor next to him. He was suddenly dragged painfully by the hair, his hands grasping desperately to try and take some of the pressure off his scalp. The next moment he found himself flung face-down onto the massive bed, a familiar, once-comforting scent filling his senses.

It was at that moment that Draco lost his nerve, as he always did no matter how many times he told himself he wouldn't.

Draco scrambled across the mattress frantically, trying to put distance between himself and his attacker. He wasn't fast enough. He never was. Strong, steely fingers gripped him by the ankle, dragging him back across the bed, and try as he might, he couldn't manage to free himself. 

He kicked out wildly, satisfied when he heard a grunt and a curse. It didn't faze his attacker for long, and that was when everything shifted. Draco doubled over in pain, the solid blow to his groin stealing any fight in him that remained. It made it easy for his attacker to gain the upper hand and his attacker wasted no time in doing so.

The weight that pinned him down this time had form and a face. Through the haze of pain, Draco could make out the icy, chiseled features of his sire, looming over him with a wild look in his eyes. Draco cried out, his entire body bowing off the bed as his father seized him by the balls, crushing them in his steely grasp.

The overwhelming pain made him easy to maneuver. It made it easy to turn him onto his stomach and tie his hands behind his back, not that it was a difficult feat before. His father was so much bigger than he was and he had never once been able to fight him off.

Once his wrists were tightly bound, his father rolled him onto his back, flattening his palm in the middle of his chest to hold him in place. Draco looked up into eyes dark with the kind of look that made his insides crawl. He squirmed beneath the hand on his chest, feeling his lungs grow tight as his father pressed down harder.

"Now, now Draco," his father admonishes, speaking for the first time with dark amusement in his voice. "What have I told you about trying to run?"

_ Don't. _

"Has it ever helped?" His father's fingers curl against his chest, stroking in circles over his skin.

_ Not once. _

He shudders in revulsion as his father's hand slides across his chest to capture a nipple between his fingers, and he pinches harshly.

"Now be a good boy, Draco, and I won't hurt you too much this time." Draco hisses as his father twists the little bud of tender flesh viciously. The corners of his father's mouth pull back the slightest bit in a predatory grin that belie his words. If there was only one truth in the world, it was that his father loved hurting him, and would do so at any opportunity.

His father leans forward slowly as though savoring his fear, dipping his head to slant his lips over his own. Draco whimpers at the feel of a hot tongue prodding at the seam where his lips are pressed tightly together, until he cries out from the vicious twist to his nipple and that tongue slips inside his mouth. His father's hand slides into his hair, cradling his head to hold him still for his assault.

Draco is trapped, his hands bound behind his back as that hot mouth plunders his own, that serpentine tongue mapping out the contours of his mouth intimately. A low moan emanates from the broad chest pressed against his much smaller frame until his father breaks away, tearing at his clothes in a rush to remove them. All too soon, all that remains between them are the inadequate little pink knickers that hide nothing from his father's shrewd gaze.

His father sits back on his heels between his legs, his hand moving languidly between his own. Draco averts his gaze. He doesn't want to see what his father was doing, doesn't want to make it real quite so soon. His father's hand smooths down over his stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his knickers to fondle him.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the familiar, unwanted touch. Long fingers skirt over his balls, massaging the skin just behind and further back.

"Please father…" Draco pleads and is ignored.

He jerks when a finger breaches him, only the tiniest bit, but there had been nothing to ease its passage. It is a stabbing pain, like white-hot knives in his gut that makes him want to cry and vomit. He grits his teeth and chokes back a sob, his toes curling into the sheets as it burrows deeper. 

After what feels like an eternity of a hot poker being shoved up inside him, despite how smooth the manicured hands actually are, his father withdraws, and the exit is just as painful as the entry. Draco cracks open his eyes. He can't help it, terrified that his father would do something far worse next. It was guaranteed that it would happen regardless, because his father was far from done with him.

As if on cue, his father's hands grasp the backs of his knees. He pulls Draco closer, hooking his knees over his shoulders. Against his father's broad frame, his legs look so fragile and skinny by comparison. His father's fingers dig into the muscle of his upper thighs, and he lowers his head between Draco's legs, running his tongue over the thin lace covering his cock. Draco squirms beneath the steely fingers, whimpering as his father's hot mouth closes around the small organ and begins to suckle on his flesh.

An involuntary blush creeps up Draco's neck. His eyes roll back in response to the feeling of the stiff tongue rasping across the barely-there cloth. He can't move, has no leverage with his arms bound behind his back, and his father pulls him closer still until most of his weight rests on his upper shoulders and neck.

He was old enough now to know that what his father did to him wasn't right. It was shameful and wrong, so flat out wrong the way his father suckled at his privates like a man starved. Draco drowns in his shame, fresh waves washing over him with every throaty moan emanating from the mouth on him and every swipe of his father's tongue. He bites his lip, willing himself not to feel anything; a losing battle as his father is an expert at what he's doing and knows him so intimately.

His tiny cock begins to respond and he feels his father smile around his mouthful. Draco suddenly bites into his lips harder, afraid he's drawn blood as he muffles an involuntary moan. His father's tongue has finally delved beneath the immodest scrap of lace, moving serpent-like to burrow between his cheeks and stab at the tiny ring of furled muscle hidden within.

The hands digging into his thighs grip him tighter for a moment before sliding around his hips. Thumbs hook his fleshy cheeks, spreading him open, and Draco's hole clenches spasmodically trying to keep the foreign invader out to no avail. He is perched precariously on his father's broad shoulders unable to stop the tongue that spears him open from working its way deeper into him.

Draco's heels dig into his father's back. A litany of pleas fall from his lips onto deaf ears as tongue and now fingers work to loosen him. Draco goes rigid, his tiny cock stiffening shamefully when his father's questing fingers brush across something pleasant deep within him. 

His father releases him, and he suddenly falls crashing back to the bed, his legs splayed obscenely. Draco lay dazed, feeling oddly empty absent his father's fingers. He didn't remain that way for long. A murmured  _ accio _ from his father's lips echoes in the quiet room before the thin lace covering him is drawn to the side. Draco feels a cold, slick fluid smeared across his sensitive hole, and grimaces at the sensation.

He whimpers.

"Father please I-"

His pleas are abruptly cut off when his legs are guided up and back to expose him with little fanfare to his father's gaze. He hates this part, hates the way his father inspects him so critically before shuffling forward, and Draco's stomach twists in response. His father's touch lingers on his nipples, dragging down over his belly, the backs of his knuckles brushing across his tiny cock before he gives it a little squeeze.

That loathsome touch is gone and Draco knows his father has taken hold of himself in order to align their bodies together for the main event.

A choked noise makes its way past Draco's lips when his father presses hot and blunt and enormous against his most private place. He goes rigid. It was always a shock, the first relentless press of hard flesh against him, and the Malfoy patriarch wastes little time in forcing his way into his only son's resisting body.

Draco's eyes widen, a scream bubbling up inside, threatening to break free before a large hand clasps over his mouth, silencing him. His hands clench into ineffectual fists within his bonds as that hard flesh finally worms its way past his muscle ring and sinks deeper with a burn. The sounds of his protest and pain are muffled behind his father's hand. His father never stretched him enough for it not to hurt, never gave him the time to adjust before filling him either. He preferred him virgin-tight, like the first time, every time he took him. 

Wetness fills his eyes, spilling from the corners to slip down and trickle into his hair. He tries to block out the sounds of his father's groans above him, winces behind his father's hand as his insides are rearranged with each brutal thrust. A wet trickle slides down between his cheeks with every push and pull, and Draco can't say for certain that it isn't blood slicking his father's way. His stomach recoils each time his father's balls brush across his bound hands before slapping against his bottom obscenely. 

The pace his father sets is far from gentle. He chases his pleasure relentlessly, and Draco knows, feels the certainty in every harsh slap against the tender skin of his thighs and bottom, that he is little more than a convenient hole for his sire's use. The sound of his father's breath is harsh in his ears. The grunts accompanying each bone jarring thrust of his father's hips are low and animalistic. The muscles in his arm are corded, the tension running all the way down into the fingers clamped tightly over his mouth.

Draco would be tempted to cry out for help were it not for the hand silencing his cries as effectively as any spell. It would do him little good if he could cry out anyway. His father didn't do this when his mother was present in the manor, and the house elves knew which Malfoy they ultimately answered to.

His father's hand, splayed on the mattress beside him, grasps his hip suddenly, and his father shifts on his knees, driving into him more harshly still with his newfound leverage. The strain in Draco's shoulders is almost unbearable; pins and needles numbing his arms. His wrists are chafed raw from his bonds. His arsehole clenches painfully with each rough smack of his father bottoming out inside him.

Both hands are on his hips now, pulling him more aggressively onto the cock that spears him open. Draco's mouth hangs open in a silent scream as his father thrusts deep and pumps his hips against him. His head is thrown back in pleasure, a deep, guttural moan rising from the depths of his chest as his large hands span the width of Draco's hips, holding his son flush against him. Draco feels the warmth of his father's affection flood his insides in waves as the man above him finds his release.

Draco's eyes roll back, and he falls backwards, losing sight of the vision of his father above him. Hands suddenly freed, he catches himself as he falls, and ends up sprawled out in a dishevelled heap. He raises an arm to shield himself, peeking through his fingers apprehensively.

The room is cold and dark, so different from the heat of his father's skin and the too-bright flames in the roaring hearth. It had been so real, and yet his father was nowhere to be seen. Even now he could feel the immense stretch of his father's girth, could feel his father's come trickle down between his legs. Draco looked down, taking in the state of his dishevelled clothing and the wet, sticky mess in his trousers, the mess sliding down between his cheeks to pool beneath him bum. He glanced up, gazing across the room for a second before quickly averting his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut.

He picked himself up and fumbled his way to the door and when he reached the corridor, took off in a dead run all the way back to the Slytherin dormitories and away from the strange mirror that had shown him such terrible fevered dreams.


	2. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's conflict comes to a head and decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you knew Lucius' pimp cane was making an appearance. As you no doubt have figured out, most of this takes place in the realm of Draco's fantasies. I have most of them mapped out, but I'm not opposed to some suggestions if you have them. Enjoy!

Draco cradled his hand, flexed his fingers, and tried to make a fist. The dull throbbing pain quickly grew unbearable and he relaxed his hand, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. He released a shaky exhalation as a different sort of throbbing settled in the pit of his stomach and made itself known. It was the sort of throbbing that he was becoming intimately familiar with ever since he had stumbled upon that strange mirror in that cold, dark room. 

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't go back and for nearly three weeks he had resisted, waking in the night drenched in sweat, his cock painfully stiff, and a single forbidden word sticking in his throat as he choked on it. Nothing short of snaking his hand down his pants and touching himself, biting his lips to keep from moaning that forbidden word aloud made it go away. Even as he would lie gasping afterwards, sticky and spent, fumbling for his wand, Draco had felt that something was missing, and he had known it was only a matter of time before he gave in. 

Twenty-six days had passed before he had stolen through the empty corridors in the dark of night in search of something he wasn't sure he was ready to know, and had found the room empty upon arrival. He had thought perhaps he had stolen into the wrong room, but there on the stone floor were the telltale scuffs of a heavy object having been moved. Ready or not, he had been too late to find any answers there.

Draco had successfully avoided his father for most of the summer. He was always away or in meetings in his study and for the most part it hadn't been difficult. His birthday had been a different story. Catching sight of him through the open door, his father had called him into his study, and Draco had reluctantly obeyed. 

Thankfully his father hadn't seemed to notice his nerves or the way he shuffled in, hiding his burgeoning erection behind his hands. And when his father had placed a warm hand on his shoulder, Draco had barely been able to suppress a needy moan at the memory of those phantom fingers forcing him to his knees and he nearly came in his trousers at the waft of his father's distinctive cologne the movement brought with it. 

Concentrating on his father's words had been difficult, but in the end he had gathered the most important details: Diagon Alley, birthday present, shopping with his father. Not now, but perhaps in a week or so when he had a chance to get away from his work.

Draco had nodded enthusiastically, and quickly excused himself, rushing from the room and his father's confused look before he embarrassed himself completely.

Which brought him to now.

He examines the back of his hand carefully, runs his thumb over the two, tiny throbbing wounds from his father's cane, and shudders.

_ "You mustn't touch, Draco." _

Draco glances at his locked bedroom door as he stiffens in his trousers, the memory of his father's words igniting his imagination. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out the scrap of lace, stolen from Twilfitt and Tatting's while his father spoke to the clerk about a new set of formal robes. They were black rather than pink like in the mirror, but it wasn't the color that had drawn his eye. Draco hastily shrugs out of his robes, ignoring the pain in his hand for the time being. He slips the scrap of lace on, disappointed that they're too big on him, and spends several painstaking minutes with his wand adjusting the size until he stands in front of his mirror and the fabric hugs his slender hips, his stiff little cock poking against the front desperately.

He doesn't quite know how he feels about them, runs his hand down his flat stomach as he looks at his reflection, imagines his father standing just over his shoulder, and wonders if it's simply the wrongness of it all; something tangible that reflects his inappropriate interest in his father. He can no longer deny what his father's presence, the mere thought of him, does to him. Draco glances down and is confronted with the evidence of what those thoughts do to him.

He reaches for his cock, touches himself, but it doesn't feel right somehow. Almost without conscious thought, he brings his wand down sharply against the back of his hand, and yelps as he strikes the two pinpoint wounds left by his father's cane.

His yelp turns into a mewl of need as his father's words ring in his ears and he drops his hand to his side as though burnt. 

_ You mustn't touch, Draco. _

Draco suddenly finds himself needing more, needing to feel his father's cane again, and looks down at the wand in his hand. It isn't enough and he doesn't want to risk breaking it. A sudden memory flashes in his mind, and he all but runs to his wardrobe, movements hampered and awkward due to the state of his arousal.

He digs frantically, knowing that it's there, he remembers seeing it when he returned from school, and finally finds it stuffed in the back with his quidditch gear. Draco clutches his precious treasure as he emerges from his wardrobe. He had been meaning to throw the old beaten up, broken toy broom away, and was now glad that he hadn't.

It was almost perfect; would be with few modifications. Even the handle was black, lacquered, and lustrous. He strips the remaining twigs until only the handle remains, and holds it in his hands triumphantly. It isn't quite as long as his father's cane, but that was okay. He wasn't all that big yet anyway.

Draco carries it back to his bed in a daze, and sits on the edge of his bed, staring at it all the while. His hand moves of its own accord to fondle his wilted cock, and he brings the makeshift cane down against the inside of his left thigh, and he is suddenly shockingly hard again.

Stars bloom behind his eyes, and he bites back a cry of pain as his imagination runs away from him completely.

His father grasps him by the jaw, and wrenches his head up, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"What did I tell you?" The words are clipped, his father's anger at his disobedience plain.

"I mustn't touch…"

His father strikes him again, higher on his thigh, closer to his cock, and Draco gasps as it only makes him harder.

"I see you  _ are _ capable of listening then." He taps the back of the silver snake head against the underside of his balls, and Draco sees a smirk appear on his lips as he whimpers and squirms helplessly, held in his father's vice like grip.

His father smiles and then sneers.

Draco's eyes widen, his hole clenching as his father's cane moves lower and farther back, pressing down between the bedding and his hidden entrance, and rubbing at him there. Without warning the cane is gone, and Draco squawks as it comes crashing down on his unblemished thigh. 

This seems to amuse his father, for he smiles again, and says in a voice that brooks no further disobedience, "You will come for me without touching that pathetic little thing between your legs."

Draco's stomach clenches painfully with need. "Yes father," he whispers as best he can with his father's fingers digging into his jaw.

The cane slides smoothly down the inside of one thigh, stops, pushes against his knee. The action is repeated on the other side until Draco's legs are spread wide. The head of his father's cane wends its way back up the inside of his thigh, Draco winces slightly as it glides across one of his rapidly forming bruises, and holds his breath as it nudges against his stiff, little cock. He wants to press up, rub himself against that cool, solid, bold extension of his father's will.

His hand throbs again, a reminder of the consequences of his disobedience, and Draco remains still, save for the twitching of his cock and the dribble of clear fluid leaking from the tip. His gaze is locked on his father's steely grey one, unable to look away. His jaw is sore where his father's fingers lie, gripping him tightly. He can feel the cane through his knickers, slick with his pathetic, dribbling lust, and Draco opens his mouth to speak without conscious thought.

"Please father…" 

His voice is filled with undeniable want, the kind of want that has gripped him tight beneath his sheets in the dark of night ever since his encounter with that blasted mirror. Would this want burrow inside him and burn him up now, setting him aflame with such need if he had never glimpsed those twisted visions within its depths? He had always loved his father, worshipped him, but would he have ever yearned to utterly belong to him, to be Lucius Malfoy's and no one else's, if he had never known the possibility?

Draco begs, and he still doesn't know what he begs for in the end. After months of fevered dreams, of frantic fumbling beneath his sheets, and stifled cries in the dark, he still hasn't made it farther than those scant words. 

_ Father please... _

He does not know if the next word will be  _ don't _ or  _ more _ and it drives him mad. Part of him wants to resist, because how could this need feel so right when it was clearly wrong, and have his father take him regardless of its wrongness. Lucius Malfoy has always been a man who is above the rules set for lesser men, and Draco has always been as terrified of him as he is captivated by him.

The other part of him? The part that made a mess of his trousers during that first brutal vision, that didn't care about the wrongness of wanting his father to ruin him? Well if the rules don't exist for Lucius Malfoy, then how can they exist for him? How can anything he wants be wrong? And Draco has realized, faced the fact that he does want.

Part of him wants to resist and part of him wants to be his father's willing whore, to suck his cock and be stuffed full to bursting and beg shamelessly for more.

The cane shifts downward and to the side, pulling him from his thoughts, and slides beneath the fabric through one of the leg holes of his knickers, and back up again. His father's smirk broadens, and the serpent's fangs hook the waistband before his knickers are slowly tugged down. Draco leans back on his hands, angles his hips to make it easier for his father to draw them down his legs until they're tangled around his knees.

His father finally releases his jaw, and it pops as Draco works the stiffness out. 

It's at this moment that Draco's fantasy falters as he realizes that he's forgotten something. He goes to his bag, and digs in the bottom for a moment, clutching the precious bottle of oil tightly in his fist, he's learned quickly just how important it is, and returns to sit on his bed, immediately sucked into his fantasy once more.

His father shoves him backwards and in the same fluid movement pushes a knee up towards his head so that he's nearly bent in half. Oil dribbles onto this exposed hole and he clenches in anticipation. He can't hold back the moan as that silver serpent head presses against his entrance, rocking back and forth in a delightful tease, slick with oil and working him open in maddening increments.

Draco cries out suddenly as his father shoves him farther across the bed, and climbs up to kneel between his thighs. The knickers are stripped the rest of the way off him, tossed aside, and his father grips the staff of his cane tighter, shoving it into him as though it were well and truly an extension of his body as he fucks him with it.

Draco clenches around the cane buried in his arse, and spurts onto his belly without ever having touched his cock, just as his father commanded.

He lies gasping, his hole twitching around the object lodged inside it, and soon finds himself hard again. Moments later he's carefully turned onto his stomach, his knees are pulled beneath him, and he hears the rustle of fabric that signals that his father has released himself from his robes. The cane slowly withdraws from his body, sinking right back into him, and Draco gasps at the unexpected, slow, deep rhythm that his father sets.

This continues until Draco is mewling, pushing back onto his father's cane to get it deeper, needing more, needing to come again.

A desperate sound leaves his throat as it is removed completely. Before he can protest too much, more oil is poured on and into his gaping hole, and then his father is there, plunging into him through copious amounts of oil, the squelch obscene in the quiet of his room. His father fucks him hard and fast, gripping his hips, his large hands clutching at his bruising thighs, and Draco spreads his legs, and cries and begs for more. A dam bursts inside him. The answer he had failed to find when he went in search of the mirror crystallizing with the completion of his pleas, the question he had been stuck on for months.

_ Please father, more... _

Draco moans, rutts against the mattress beneath him, and comes all over the sheets with a cry. He shudders, and collapses in exhaustion, the handle of his broken toy broom lodged firmly in his bum, knowing that there is no going back for him. As much as he had fought against the mirror's visions, what it had shown him was exactly what he wanted, and he didn't care if it was right or not. 

He was a Malfoy. 

How could it be wrong?


	3. Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's fantasies continue to evolve, and Madam Pomfrey is a bit of a cockblocker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing daddy kink. It's not really in my wheelhouse, but I sometimes find it super hot, and this story is all about experimentation.

Draco watches his father speaking with Madam Pomfrey, watches them both look back at him as she answers. His father nods curtly, dismissing her, and she hurries away, closing the doors on her way out, and Draco is left all alone with the man that he loves most in all the world.

His father's boots, expensive dragon hide, are whisper-quiet on the stone floor. It's the swish of his robes that Draco is attuned to as his father approaches his bed, and sits on the edge to stare down at him with those piercing eyes and to cradle his bandaged arm with gentle fingers.

"Does it hurt terribly?" he asks, his voice lilting and soft.

Draco swallows. He isn't quite sure what to say. It does, but he wants to be a brave boy for his father. He doesn't want him to think less of him. 

He finally settles for, "Not too terribly," and watches his father nod, an inscrutable look on his face as he continues to stroke his fingers lightly over the bandages.

His father smiles, his gaze flicking to his own, and Draco's breath catches in his throat. Surely there is none so beautiful in all the world as his father. The fingers stroking his arm stop, reach up, caress his cheek, and it's with a deliberate sort of slowness that his father leans forward, presses his lips lightly against his own.

Draco sighs against the mouth that moves against his, groans as a tongue prods tenderly, seeking entry, and he grants it eagerly. The taste of his father is as unique as his scent, and Draco knows not which he loves more. His own tongue is hesitant, darting quickly before drawing back until his father grasps him by the jaw harshly, holding him so that his mouth hangs open slightly and he can deepen their kiss. His father's kiss is possessive, it consumes Draco, and he could not withdraw, could not evade that plundering tongue if he were so inclined.

It is an age before his father pulls back, catching first his tongue and then his pouty lower lip between his teeth with a low growl of pure need. Draco's answering whimper is just as needy, and he stares entranced by his father's darkened eyes before his own dart apprehensively towards the door.

His father chuckles lightly, a sound that does things to Draco's insides, and he turns Draco's head back to capture his lips again before murmuring, "Not to worry. We shan't be disturbed. I have you for as long as I wish it."

His father's eyes flash with private amusement, but he isn't inclined to share the joke.

Draco moans as his father presses his lips more forcefully against his. His free hand pushes at the collar of his shirt, dips inside, brushes across his nipple, and Draco melts under the heated, sensual caress. His father shifts suddenly, plundering his mouth all the while, his palm pressing against his chest, pressing him into the bed, and surely his father can feel his heart thump rapidly beneath his hand as he climbs onto the bed and swings a leg over him to straddle his stomach.

His father's hand drops from his cheek, joins the other, and his fingers pluck at the buttons on his shirt until he can bare Draco's chest to his touch and capture his pebbled nipples between thumb and forefinger. When he draws back Draco is panting, arching up into his touch, and his father grins at the noises that escape his lips as he twists the little nubs mercilessly. His father is more composed, though clearly not unaffected, and Draco glances down though he cannot see the bulge in his father's trousers for the robes and cloak he is draped in. He can feel it though, nestled warm against his belly, and Draco licks his kiss-bitten lips in anticipation.

Draco whimpers at his father's assault on his nipples, cries out softly at the exquisite torment he endures. His father shushes him gently, murmurs, "Good boy," when Draco quiets, and a wave of pleasure washes over him at his father's words. Heat creeps up his neck suffusing his cheeks, and Draco releases a shuddering breath, ducking his head in sudden embarrassment.

His father releases him, soothes the abused flesh with the pads of his thumbs, and cups Draco's pinkend cheeks, tilting his face up so that he cannot hide from him.

"You like that don't you? You like being a good boy?"

Draco's bottom lip sticks out in a little pout, and he shakes his head minutely.

"Ah, I see," and his father's thumb brushes over Draco's lip. His tongue darts out to taste his father's skin, the salt-sweet tang of it making his head spin, and his father pushes his thumb into his mouth to press against his tongue.

As Draco sucks languidly he gazes up into his father's eyes, sees a swirl of emotions reflected there. His father stares at the place where his body disappears inside him. There is desire in his eyes and he licks his lips as if he wants to devour Draco whole.

"You want to be a good boy  _ for me _ ..."

Draco's stomach flips and he nods as his father's thumb slides free of his mouth. Fingertips glide down Draco's heaving chest, and take a meandering path around his navel. Draco squirms and then grimaces at the jarring in his bandaged arm.

His father notes his discomfort, pauses in the removal of his cloak. "Draco, are you certain-"

"It's fine," he insists, and nods quickly, schooling his features to show his father that he is in fact.

His father remains immobile for another moment, as if considering, before finally removing his cloak and setting it aside. Clearly he doesn't believe that everything is fine, but he isn't going to press him on it either.

"I suppose I should check for other injuries." His hand drops onto Draco's chest again, prodding gently. "Those filthy beasts are incredibly dangerous after all. I would be surprised if you were otherwise unscathed."

Draco allows the deliberate prodding to continue without complaint. He closes his eyes and relaxes into it. It's almost a massage really; an excuse for his father to explore his body, not that he needs one, but this is a game that Draco is happy to let him play. He likes it when his father is gentle and takes his time.

Some minutes later when he is relaxed and growing drowsy, Draco jerks beneath his father, his eyes snapping open to see a slow smile spread across his father's face.

"Oh dear. I seem to have found another injury after all," his father says, voice laced with mock-concern.

A choked noise is Draco's response as his father's fingers ghost over his balls and rapidly filling cock. No longer wilted due to his relaxed state, it rages beneath his father's skillful, teasing touch. Draco presses up against that hand as much as he can with his father astride him.

And when his father speaks, it is in that same soft, lilting voice from before, innocent and concerned, save for the single endearment tacked on the end.

"Does it hurt terribly, baby?"

_ That _ is pure filth and informs Draco of exactly which game his father is interested in playing this time.

"Yes," Draco nods, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry, "it's unbearable."

Another maddening caress. "Do you want Daddy to make it all better?"

Draco nods enthusiastically.

His father's eyes narrow slightly, and he gives Draco a stern look.

"Now Draco, I thought you wanted to be a good boy for me."

"I do-" Draco responds quickly.

"Then you need to answer when Daddy asks you a question, don't you?"

"Yes." One of his father's eyebrows tick slightly upward prompting Draco to continue. "Yes, Daddy."

"So what do you say then?"

The blush creeps back into Draco's face, and he looks up at his father with big innocent eyes. "I want you to make it better, Daddy. It hurts so much…"

The little quiver Draco puts in his voice is enough to give even his father a moment's pause, but only just, and then he is walking forward on his knees, urging Draco to sit up. Draco props himself up on the pillows carefully, his eyes glued to his father's hands where they part his robes and fall to the buttons on his trousers. He swallows hard as his father reveals himself.

Draco watches his father's hand move fluidly over his cock, watches it rise, thick and proud from a thatch of white-gold hair as if seeking him out. A clear drop of fluid gathers at the tip, and Draco reaches out to touch it hesitantly.

"Daddy?" Draco asks with feigned innocence and confusion.

"It's your medicine, baby." His father is breathing harder, trying to control himself as his excitement increases.

"Medicine? But I thought-"

"There's a pain in your tummy isn't there? It's way down deep, and it's burning you up?"

Draco nods slowly, gazing up at his father in awe.

"Well you see, daddies have a special medicine for their special little boys. It makes the pain go away." His father is nearly panting as he patiently explains it to Draco, and Draco is burning with need himself, so much that he wants to speed up their game, to force his father's hand so to speak.

"It does?" His father nods, placing a hand on the top of the headboard for balance. Draco looks at the thick cock in his father's hand, and asks innocently, "Then, how do we get the medicine out of- of there?"

His father's breath catches, and it's all Draco can do to keep from smiling. "You'll have to suck it out."

"Suck it out, Daddy?"

"Mmhmm." He presses forward a bit, touching the head to Draco's lips. "Open up, baby. Let me in."

Draco opens his mouth hesitantly, as if this is the first time he's let his father thrust between his lips, the first time he's tasted him on his tongue. He gazes up into his father's eyes with adoration as he is slowly fed his father's hot and oh so hard cock. He is leaking from the tip steadily, a stream of precum flooding Draco's mouth and making him salivate, and Draco swirls his tongue around the head with a moan.

His father releases his cock, places his hand on top of his head, fingers curling into his hair to hold him still as he finds a rhythm and begins to thrust deeper. Draco rests his bandaged arm on his father's thigh. His other hand grips high onto his father's robes for balance.

Draco chokes slightly, gags as his father brushes the back of his throat. His father shushes him again, his hand guides the movement of his head up and down his length, but he doesn't force himself deeper beyond what Draco can handle. Force doesn't fit with today's theme of innocence corrupted. Force would ruin the whole thing.

His father is murmuring soothing words to him.

_ Such a good boy, Draco. _

_ Open your eyes, baby. Daddy wants to see how pretty you look. _

_ You're Daddy's good boy, aren't you? _

Draco makes a noise of affirmation, swallows down the precum that threatens to choke him.

"Then be a good boy and take your medicine, Draco."

His father's cock begins to pulse. The first spurt lands salty on his tongue.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Mr. Malfoy! Your father left half an hour ago. I'm not calling him back. Now quit your bloody moaning! You're not so badly injured as you’re making it out to be."

Draco looked around in bewilderment at the empty hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey’s retreating back as she disappeared into her office. He ran a hand through his hair, heaving a heavy sigh, and dropped his head onto the pillow. How much longer could he carry on like this?


	4. Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boring Yule Balls and a little Christmas spying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have failed this story! Couldn't keep it at just smut. I had a good run, but I knew my limitations. 
> 
> This one took longer than I thought it would, and it's longer than I thought it would be. So, we're actually going to spend quite a bit of time outside of Draco's fantasies in this one. He still has his fantasies, but this chapter is the pivot point where his fantasy world and real world collide.

His father steers him into a shadowed alcove away from the noise, away from the crowd of boisterous students and their bored chaperones. Draco can still hear the music, but it's muted compared to the wild beating of his heart. His father is behind him, pressing his face into the cold stone of the alcove as he roughly shoves a knee between his thighs. 

Draco pushes back, feels how hard his father is against his arse, and groans. His father's large hands are splayed across his hips, stilling his movements. His father's weight settles against his back, and Draco is trapped between immovable stone and the unyielding body behind him.

In mere moments, his father is moving his hips against Draco's arse, the hard bulge beneath his formal robes nestling between his cheeks. Draco thrusts back, counter to his father's rhythm, and is gratified to hear a low moan escape his father's lips before they seal over the pulse point in his throat. The steady thrum of the music is drowned out by the clinking of his father's belt buckle and the rustle of expensive furs and silks.

Draco reaches for the placket on his trousers, and winces as he is cuffed across the back of his head in warning. He reluctantly places his palms against the wall in front of him, taking deep, calming breaths to bring himself back under control. His father's hands smooth over his shoulders, caress up his neck, and thread through his hair before they travel back down his quivering body. The stone beneath his cheek is cold and smooth and Draco wonders idly how many trysts this particular alcove has seen for the stone to be so thoroughly worn down.

"You look so handsome tonight, baby," his father whispers, catching his earlobe and biting down gently. He pulls Draco against him, grinding harder into his backside, and Draco whimpers needfully at the implied promise of the hard cock pressed between them.

"Did you wear this tonight intending to drive Daddy mad for you?"

"Mmhmm," Draco whines, pressing back and wriggling his bottom to make his father groan. He gasps when his father stops moving abruptly, draws back, and smacks him in the head again.

"I wore it for you, Daddy. I wanted you to want me…"

Draco practically melts at the brush of his father's lips on his cheek. "I can't help but want my sweet, baby boy."

Those soft lips move to the tender spot between his neck and shoulder. 

"All I could think about was getting away from Sinistra and getting you alone," his father growls into his ear. "The bloody woman's talked my ear off all night. It made me wonder why I ever wanted back on the board at all."

Draco utters a little squeak of surprise as his father's hand snakes into the back of his trousers. His middle finger delves into his cleft, and rubs at the furled muscle there.

"Ah yes," he murmurs as if just remembering something. "Being back on the board  _ does _ have its perks."

Draco doesn't know whether to push back onto the finger teasing him or forward into the hand that is quite suddenly fondling his balls. He grimaces, caught between his father's hands, and it isn't until he starts pleading, his voice raw with need, that his father finally takes pity on him. 

His trousers are undone, and pushed down over his slender hips. His robes and shirt are slowly lifted, baring him to his father's gaze. Draco squirms impatiently, sticking out his bottom slightly to encourage his father's touch. In no hurry to move things along, his father traces a single finger over the swell of one cheek, slipping it beneath the waistband of his pretty knickers to draw it back and let go to snap against his tender skin. Draco hisses through clenched teeth, holds his breath as the knickers are slowly drawn down too, and moans as his father grasps a round cheek in each of his hands and squeezes roughly.

Cool air caresses his exposed flesh, and his hole clenches spasmodically as his cheeks are parted with little fanfare. Slick fingers prod at his entrance, push inside, and start to open him up. Draco kicks his feet out to widen his stance, but with his trousers caught just below his arse his effort is for nought. His father's fingers feel huge, and his cock is going to feel enormous.

Draco whines when those talented fingers press against his prostate briefly before they are withdrawn. He moans when something slick and blunt and much bigger rubs up and down his cleft before pressing against his hole. It pushes its way inside, filling him up, and then his father is thrusting into him quite roughly, forcing involuntary little noises from Draco's throat with every deep stab of his cock.

His father's hand clamps across his mouth, and in the sudden quiet Draco can hear nearby voices. He panics, trying to pull away, but the possibility of getting caught is no deterrent for his father. His hips piston into him and he's almost brutal now, and he is pressing him against the stone wall, his hand tight over his mouth to keep him quiet as he fucks him like some back alley prostitute. 

The voices grow closer, and now Draco can hear that they are calling out his name. He didn't think he'd been gone so long that he would be missed already. His father is almost silent, his breath hot on his cheek as he fucks himself deep into his arse, and comes.

Draco's little cock is still so hard, and the voices are growing louder, and still his father pumps his hips against his arse, plants his seed so deep he'll be leaking for hours.

A stinging sensation and an indignant squawk rocket him back to reality. His hand massages the side of his face, and he looks around. Several nearby couples had stopped dancing at the commotion, and Pansy was glaring at him, a shocked look on her face.

In that moment he realized just who had been calling out to him, and the tightness in his trousers informed him of just why he had been soundly slapped. Pansy stormed off in a huff, and Draco sneered at the onlookers before stomping off in the other direction, past a group of professors and board members who had clearly had a little too much punch. His father might have been with them, had he actually fought to regain his seat, though he wouldn't have been so embarrassingly pissed in public.

Draco fumed silently. He was so over the stupid ball, and he wished that he had just skipped it and gone home for Christmas rather than let Pansy talk him into going with her. If there were any portkeys left, he would remedy that mistake. He knew it was important to maintain appearances, and Pansy was instrumental in keeping his secrets a secret, but the way she clung to him was irritating. It always put him in a foul mood.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco was thrilled to be back home, but a part of him worried that he wouldn't be able to control himself in his father's presence. He always seemed to struggle with it, and he couldn't miss his father's concerned looks, those looks that gave him the sort of stern expression that made Draco's stomach flip dangerously. 

He took a deep, calming breath, and let it out slowly through his nose. Just when he had convinced himself that he could exercise control around his father… He couldn't even control himself at the mere thought of the man.

_ Maybe coming home was a mistake _ , Draco thought as he approached his father's study. The door was slightly ajar and light spilled out into the hallway, so he knew his father was home. He clutched the small wrapped package to his stomach as though he could force the butterflies there to cease their fluttering, and took another determined step towards the door. 

Draco peered through the crack, and took in the sight that greeted him. His father was bent over a piece of correspondence, dressed in formal robes. He had clearly left some sort of Yule party early as well. Draco licked his lips nervously, squared his shoulders, and lifted his hand to knock on the door.

His father looked up at the sound, smiling after his initial confusion, and gestured for Draco to enter. Draco gripped his package tightly and closed the door behind him before making his way across the room. His father met him halfway, and led him over the comfortable sofas in front of the fireplace. 

"Is everything all right, Draco?" he asked, taking a seat in his favorite leather wingback chair. 

Draco nodded, sitting on the sofa across from his father's chair, and set the package down next to him.

His father glanced at the clock. "It's just that it's still rather early. I didn't expect to see you before breakfast."

"I liked seeing the Weird Sisters, but the rest of it was boring."

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat at his father's chuckle. "I'm afraid that you'll find most events of the sort often are."

"Besides," Draco continued, his voice smaller than he wanted it to be, "I wanted to give you your Christmas present."

His father's eyes flicked to the package next to Draco, which he had thus far ignored. "You really didn't have to, son."

It was so close and yet so far from what Draco wanted to be called that his heart beat furiously in his chest as he replied.

"I know. You have everything you could want, but I wanted to…" He trailed off reluctantly, for how could he ever explain the depth of his feelings for the man before him? It was impossible.

A brief smile flashed across his father's face. "I'm certain you've chosen a wonderful gift."

He stood and crossed the short distance to sit down beside Draco. 

"Shall I?" and he held out his hand.

Draco tried not to breathe too deeply as he placed the package in his father's outstretched hand. His father was so close to him the smell was intoxicating, but Draco willed himself not to focus on it. Now, when he couldn't really hide it, would be a terribly bad time to get an erection.

"I haven't seen mother," Draco stated lamely in an attempt to fill the silence and distract himself.

"She remained at the party a while longer," he murmured as he plucked at the ribbons tying up the box. "Apparently she didn't find it as dull as I did."

His father glanced up at him, an apologetic look on his handsome face. "I am afraid, Draco, that she and Mrs. Greengrass were deep in conversation concerning your future. I daresay we'll be announcing an engagement party shortly if she has her way."

Draco's mouth fell open slightly in shock. An engagement? So soon? His preferences aside, he wasn't ready for that!

Draco shook his head slowly, pulled from his thoughts as his father opened the lid and set it aside. His fingers ghosted over the tissue paper, but soon that was pushed aside as well. As his father removed his gift from the box, it flowed like silk into his hands.

"A scarf?"

Draco spoke up quickly, reaching out for the gift. "If it's no good, I can-"

"You know," his father interrupted, "I do believe we have another boring party to attend 'round boxing day. I'll wear it then."

He held it up against Draco's cheek, narrowing his eyes in contemplation, and continued in a pleased tone, "And I think it will complement my eyes rather well. It's lovely, Draco."

Draco reached up, grasping the luxurious cloth, his fingers brushing against the warmth of his father's hand, and swallowed nervously. 

"Y-you should try it on, father," he answered quickly before he could lose his nerve. Draco held his breath as his father swept the silk around his neck with a flourish.

"What do you think?" he asked, arranging it slightly at the collar.

Draco knew that he couldn't tell his father all the things he wanted to. He couldn't tell him how handsome he looked, or that he wanted to grab that scarf and drag him forward with it, kissing him until he was trapped beneath his father's weight, a hand wrapped tightly around his cock. He certainly couldn't tell his father that he had masturbated many times already, that scarf cutting off the air to his lungs, and imagining that it was him doing it all the while.

There was no way Draco could tell his father any of this, so he simply allowed his hand to drift, brush away an invisible speck of lint, and said the only thing he could possibly say in this situation. "I think the modern look suits you, father."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Does it now? Then I just may consider adding a few new pieces to my wardrobe."

His father's hand landed on the back of his neck, squeezing slightly in that way that always made Draco swoon even though he knew it was merely fatherly affection. His cock stirred with filthy interest, though he was truly surprised he hadn't already managed to embarrass himself. Formal robes could only hide so much.

"I'm afraid I can't give you your gifts tonight. I know your mother would like to be here for that," his father said apologetically, giving him another affectionate squeeze.

"That's all right," Draco mumbled, willing away his budding erection before it could become a problem.

"I wanted to speak with you," his father continued, glancing at the clock, "but we can talk another time."

Draco's brows knit together in confusion and worry. "About what, father?"

His father shook his head slightly, clearing his throat before he spoke. "It's nothing to worry yourself over, son. You're simply going through, well changes, and this time in any young man's life can be… difficult."

_ Oh crap, _ Draco thought, shifting on the sofa nervously.  _ He knows. _ How could he have possibly thought he could hide his reactions from his father? Of course, he knew. Thank Merlin his father only believed that it was puberty causing his seemingly random erections and not the fact that he wanted his father to bend him over the nearest sturdy object and…

Draco glanced at his father's face. Luckily he was looking down and away, most likely uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. He wasn't alone in that regard.

"In fact I've told your mother that you'll grow out of it eventually, but you know how she worries. 

"Anyway," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "we can speak further if the need arises." It was left unspoken that his father believed they would not need to revisit the conversation, but Draco could certainly hear it in his voice. 

His father removed the scarf from around his neck, and placed it carefully back in the box. "Now, I think it's time for us both to turn in for the night."

Draco got to his feet, reluctant to lose the warm comforting presence of his father's hand, but he turned towards the door, looking back to watch his father place the box and its contents on his desk before extinguishing the lights in the room.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later and Draco found himself stealing back into his father's darkened study. He had attempted to sleep, but sleep had remained elusive, his mind churning as his thoughts kept drifting back to the box on his father's desk. It practically called out to him, and the call was difficult to ignore, moreso now that his father had actually worn it. Would it smell like him already? Would his father's distinctive cologne tickle his nostrils as the soft cashmere bit into the skin of his neck?

And so he found himself sneaking out of bed, needing desperately to have those questions answered.

_ Just once more, _ he told himself as he pushed open the door to his father's study.

His hand trembled as he plucked the scarf from the box, and when he lifted it to his nose, Draco couldn't suppress the moan that escaped his lips. It was faint, but it was there. He pressed a hand against the front of his pajama pants, squeezing his cock though the thin fabric with a groan, and began to stroke himself slowly, savoring the scent that lingered, remembering the way his father's chest felt beneath his fingers. 

Draco's head snapped up at the sound of footsteps in the hall, and he stumbled backwards into the deeper shadows of the room, ducking behind the desk out of sight just before the door fully opened. He peered around the corner of the desk to see his father, still in his formal robes, silhouetted in the doorframe, light from the hallway spilling around him like a halo.

Draco remained hidden in the shadows as his father moved through the dark room gracefully, as though he did it all the time. He stopped and poured himself a drink before taking a seat on the same sofa where they had both sat only a short while ago. He took out his wand, and pointed it at the door, Draco heard the lock click loudly in the quiet room, and a moment later two of the wall sconces came to life providing dim illumination around his father. The light didn't reach far enough to reveal his presence, but Draco took care to remain well hidden as he observed. 

His father sipped his drink slowly, the low light casting his features in stark relief, and he rested his arm along the back of the sofa as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Draco watched, wondering what he was doing, and shifted into a more comfortable position on the plush carpet. It didn’t seem like he would be going anywhere anytime soon. 

Another ten minutes or so passed, and Draco was just admiring the strong line of his father’s jaw in the low firelight, when the fireplace sprang to life, and a robed figure stepped from the flames. His father glanced up at the newcomer’s arrival, and the young man, barely out of Hogwarts by the looks of him, fidgeted nervously under what was clearly his father’s icy glare.

Apologies, Mr. M-”

“You’re late,” his father interrupted, and Draco could hear the cold displeasure in his voice. The nonchalant way his father reclined on the sofa somehow made his anger all the more terrifying. “And you’re new.”

“Yes Sir, I would have arrived sooner-”

“Beaumonde knows that I abhor excuses even more than I abhor tardiness. Are you certain you’re one of her boys?”

The boy ducked his head, chastened by his father's words. His shoulder length, curly hair fell to hide his face, and he took a breath before speaking again.

“As you said, Sir. I’m new.” The other boy wisely stopped trying to stutter out his excuses. His father’s temper was legendary, and even Draco had learned when it was best to simply keep his mouth shut. An errand boy stood little chance of weathering that storm unscathed.

Draco watched as the boy pulled a sealed letter from inside his robes, and held it out to his father with a trembling hand. There was a long pause as his father’s gaze remained locked with the errand boy’s own, the letter held between them, and then his father leaned forward slightly to take it. He glanced down at the wax seal, took another slow sip, and tossed it onto the seat unopened. His arm returned to rest along the back of the sofa, and he studied the young man standing before him with a critical eye.

“Beaumonde has expressed to you the nature of your service?"

The boy nodded, face still hidden behind a curtain of hair, and Draco couldn't help but be curious. What dark artefact was his father trading this time? It couldn't be all that dark if a mere boy was running it.

The young man's voice grew soft, shifting up a notch. It piqued Draco's interest further, and he murmured quietly, "Madame Beaumonde herself impressed upon me the nature of your requirements, Sir."

A smile appeared on his father's face that even Draco could see in the lowly lit room, as his father relaxed further into the plush sofa. "Then I'm eager to see what my coin has paid for."

Draco clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide, before he could utter a sound that would give him away. As the boy stood before his father, unbuttoning his robes, Draco's thoughts shifted back to that cursed mirror that had led him to the here and now. Just how much did that mirror know, he wondered, as he took in the sight before him.

The boy's skin fairly glowed in the torchlight. Ivory lace, expensively tasteful, hugged his slender form. He folded his robes and set them on the leather chair at his back, standing before his father expectantly.

"Turn around," his father urged a bit breathlessly. "Let me see you."

The boy kept his head down, turning in a slow circle for his father's inspection, and a hot surge of jealousy prickled at Draco's insides as he watched his father's arm drop from the back of the sofa and his hand came to rest over his crotch. 

Draco liked wearing his lace knickers under his robes now. It gave him a little thrill to know that no one else knew, and served as a tangible expression of his secret desires. He had amassed an entire drawer in varying colors and cuts, but had been reluctant to take it much further.

That had clearly been a mistake on his part. His father watched the boy before him with a hunger that Draco had only dreamt about.

The boy showing off his body for his father's approval wore a corset cinched tight enough to give him the barest shadow of cleavage. The straps on his garter belt criss-crossed his creamy thighs and held his sheer lace-topped stockings in place. He balanced precariously on a pair of heels that made his slender legs look like they went on for days. The knickers the boy wore were rather lovely and cut in a way Draco truly appreciated. Either the boy was incredibly small or they did an excellent job of smoothing him down in the front. As the boy turned his back in his direction, Draco's stomach flipped at the way the lace hugged and framed the rounded cheeks of his arse.

With his hair covering his face, the effect of the boy's outfit was rather demurely feminine, and Draco resolved to get himself a similar outfit as soon as possible.

"Come here, sweetheart," his father whispers. "Don't be shy."

The boy takes a step forward on steady legs, coming to stand between his father's knees. He lets out a breathy squeak as his father tugs him down onto his lap, and the change in his father’s demeanor shocks Draco immensely. He is almost gentle with the boy, cupping his ‘breast’ as he nibbles at the boy’s slender throat. The boy shifts slightly to straddle his waist, and Draco hears his father moan as the boy begins a slow, grinding rhythm on his lap.

His father tears himself away from the throat he is currently attacking, and his hand grips the boy’s hip tightly to guide his movements. He gives the boy's arse a squeeze before sliding his hand beneath the lace knickers cupping his rounded cheeks and dips his fingers into the cleft. The boy stiffens and lets out a little mewl as Draco watches his father press his fingers into him, and he pushes his pants down around his thighs and takes himself in hand, biting into the back of his hand to silence himself.

"You're so wet for me darling, and so tight." The boy writhes on his father's lap as he plays with him. "You must be a virgin. Tell me, sweetheart, are you?"

"No," his breath hitches and he arches his back as his father does something to him, most likely pressing against his prostate. "I'm sorry…"

"It's all right, darling. I admit I'm a little disappointed, but," and he grasps the boy's hand placing it between them, "do you feel that?"

The boy swallows hard and nods and his father smiles. "Soon enough you'll feel like one all over again."

Draco nearly groans aloud at the filth in his father's words, and squeezes his cock, praying that he doesn't come before they even get to the good part. He watches his father finger the boy's arse, wishing it were him instead, and slips his fingers into his mouth before reaching back to press against the ring of muscle and work himself open, his hand moving in tandem with his father's. The boy jerks in his father's lap, crying out at nearly the same moment that Draco's fingers ghost over his prostate. 

"Good girl," his father croons in the boy's ear. "So responsive. You like when I play with your pretty little pussy, don't you?"

" _ Yes _ ," the boy hisses, gripping onto his father's shoulders tightly. "Please…"

The boy lets out a pitiful whine when his father withdraws his fingers, yelping at the smack delivered to his exposed bottom. His father pushes the boy off his lap none too gently, and pulls his head forward to bury it in his crotch. The boy fairly attacks his father's robes, fumbling with his belt and the buttons on his trousers. His father releases a sound of satisfaction that will fuel all of Draco’s future fantasies when the boy takes him into his mouth.

"That's it, sweetheart. Get me nice and wet. You'll need it…"

Draco slowly creeps closer, finding a new spot with a better view, though he is careful to stay hidden in the room's darkest shadows. The boy's body blocks Draco's view of his father from the waist down, but he can see the blissful look on his face as he rests his hand on top of the boy's head and sips his scotch while he watches him bob up and down in his lap.

After several minutes, he drains the last of his drink, and drops the glass over the back of the sofa where it lands with barely a sound before his fingers curl into the boy's hair, and he throws his head back in pleasure as he guides him, pulling the boy down onto his cock and pushing up into his mouth at the same time. The boy flails a bit, pushing at his father's thighs, and Draco wonders, not for the first time, just what his father hides in his trousers for the boy to be having such a difficult time of it. Draco strokes his cock slowly, licking his lips as he watches his father fuck the boy’s mouth lazily, obviously enjoying every second of it until he pulls the boy off and holds him at arm’s length.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Draco’s stomach clenches, and a spurt of precum stains his fingers as he eagerly awaits the boy's reply.

"I- I want you to fuck me, Mr. Malfoy."

There is a long silence as his father looks down at the boy, and when he speaks again there is an unexpected edge that has crept back into his voice.

"How disappointing. You said that Madame Beaumonde coached you herself. Were you lying to me?"

His father's grip on the boy's hair tightens, and Draco can just make out the pitiful  _ "No" _ in reply.

"Then stop playing games and tell me what I want to hear," his father hisses, and Draco knows that clipped tone well enough that a frisson of fear slides down his spine.

The boy's voice is high, girlish and breathless as he slides his hands up his father's thighs and begins to stroke him slowly. 

"I  _ need _ you to fuck me, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco can hear his father's sharply drawn breath from across the room.

"I need to feel you dripping from me, to-"

His father reacts so quickly that Draco jerks in shock, but has no time beyond that singular reaction before the boy is hauled to his feet and shoved face first into the arm of the sofa. There is the sound of ripping fabric, and the boy cries out and squirms as his father shoves three fingers inside him. Draco wishes he had something more to slick himself with as he spits on his fingers and pushes two back inside. The saliva is barely adequate, and his hole burns as he searches out his prostate again. 

A small vial appears in his father's hand, withdrawn from his breast pocket, and he pulls the cork with his teeth before dribbling it over the boy's hole. He works it into him quickly, opening him enough to fit four fingers inside and spread them wide. Draco feels a pang of sympathy as a flash of pain flickers across the boy's face even as he suppresses a shudder and bites back a pleasurable moan.

The boy is left gaping when his father withdraws and takes his place behind him. Draco holds his breath in anticipation, but there is no ambiguity about  _ when _ his father breaches him. The boy screams and clutches at the arm of the sofa for support, trying in vain to escape from the flesh being forced into him. His father holds him still, and he is utterly relentless, doesn't stop until he is pressed flush against the boy's arse and he is a sobbing mess beneath him, and even then jerks his hips as if to bury himself that much deeper and grins as the boy squeals and kicks a leg weakly.

Draco's eyes are heavy-lidded with arousal. He imagines that he is the one beneath his father, speared on his cock and gasping with exhaustion even though they have barely begun. He wants to trade places with the boy, to feel his father's hands on his hips, his lips on his shoulder. His father is kissing the boy there for the first time, smoothing his hands over his sides and down his spine, and Draco shudders as he murmurs against the boy's skin, "I told you I'd make you feel like a virgin all over again."

His father gives the boy more time to adjust, hips moving in shallow thrusts as his lips feast on the torchlit flesh until the boy finally begins to thrust back to meet him. Once that happens, all traces of his father's gentleness vanish in an instant, and Draco gulps, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. His father fucks the boy like a man possessed, pressing him down into the cushions as he takes him, and it's all the boy can do to hold on as he is ridden brutally. 

Draco's hole clenches around his fingers in sympathy as he wonders if the other boy is even aroused. The way he is crying, his father has to be deliberately avoiding his prostate. The boy is pleading, his voice hitching each time the breath is punched out of him, but then the tenor of the boy's cries begins to change.

He's responding to the filth his father is hurling into his ear now. He's egging him on, meeting him thrust for thrust, and the things they are saying bring a profound blush to Draco's face. 

His father is close now. Draco has never seen his father climax, of course, but he recognizes the signs from his own prolific experience with the feeling. He is breathing heavily, and the pistoning of his hips is erratic. Draco strokes his cock faster, rushing to catch up with his father before he can finish without him, and then his father is pumping deep into the limp boy pinned beneath him, groaning out his pleasure only moments before Draco does himself.

Draco is relieved that his father is too focused on his own pleasure to notice any of the sounds that might have escaped his mouth. He had tried to remain silent but is certain he didn't manage it completely. But his father is still thrusting languidly into the boy until at last he shudders and takes a step back to right his clothes and admire his handiwork.

The boy's hole is utterly wrecked. It's red and puffy and sloppy and the muscle positively gapes such that it doesn't even attempt to wink closed. His father’s come leaks out slowly, slipping down the insides of the boy's thighs, and his father, clearly unable to resist, reaches out to scoop some of it onto his fingers and push it back inside. The boy whimpers as he tugs on the rim, jerking when he gives him a dismissive swat on his reddened bottom.

"You may tell your mistress," his father says as he pulls the boy to his feet, standing him up on shaking legs, "that as always, I find her judgement more than acceptable, and I shall contract your services again soon."

His voice wavered when the boy spoke, as though he were fighting to maintain his composure. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I shall be certain to… convey your satisfaction to my mistress."

His father tilted the boy's chin up, and rubbed a hand soothingly over his belly. He planted a chaste kiss to the corner of the boy's mouth and then looked down where his palm rested against the boy's stomach. "Four months, I think. Be certain to inform your mistress."

"Is there anything else, Sir?"

His father studied the boy's face closely, and then replied curtly, "Glamour your face. I can see the stubble." 

He turned away, effectively dismissing the boy as he finished with, "I intend you to be facing me next time."

"Yes, Sir," the boy murmured, but his father had already swept from the room, leaving the boy to make his way to the Floo, wobbling dangerously in the heels he had been so steady on earlier. He took a handful of powder and called out his destination, and then Draco was all alone in his father's study once again, only this time his world was profoundly different than it had been before.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Draco, why are you not eating? Are you ill?" A small shake of his head in response to his mother's question was his only reply. 

"Then what is it?"

He looked up from his plate where he'd been pushing his breakfast around. Did his mother not realize that his sudden loss of appetite coincided with his father's exit? That he had been just fine, mostly, while his father had sat at the head of the table, reading the paper, and sipping his tea? That an unease had settled in his stomach when his father leaned over to kiss his mother's cheek before rising from the table as he did all the time?

How could his father act as though what he had witnessed had never happened? How, Draco wondered, could he kiss his mother with the same mouth that had uttered such filthy things?

"Is father gay?" Draco blurted without thinking, and clamped his mouth shut quickly, his gaze darting to his mother's face before lowering to the table.

She scoffed unexpectedly, and sneered, "Hardly," but then she looked at him curiously, and asked, "Why? What have you seen?"

"Nothing," he replied, but knew it wasn't altogether convincing when he felt his face heat up. 

"It's just there was a boy and I heard him say- I didn't actually see anything…" he lied, only now realizing that he could potentially be in serious trouble if his mother was only just now finding out about his father's indiscretions.

"Oh, is that all?" she asked dismissively. Draco looked at her, and the confusion on his face must have been evident for she continued, "You may yet have your own… perversions that  _ your _ future wife finds she cannot abide."

"Are you saying that…" His mother couldn't possibly approve, could she?

"Your father's whores are no concern of mine, provided they do not whelp any little bastards, accidental or  _ otherwise _ , that could challenge your inheritance."

_ Oh _ , Draco thought. His father's dirty talk and little pet names made perfect sense now. Madame Beaumonde's letter, squirreled away in his dresser drawer made perfect sense now, along with his father's parting instructions to his young prostitute. 

His thoughts returned once again to the mirror that had once resided in that abandoned room at Hogwarts. Just how sentient was it for it to show him things he couldn't possibly have known? Which parts of that fevered vision were his father's perversions and which were his own? 

He sincerely doubted that his father harboured any secret desires for him, so that one was his alone. Draco was forced to admit that he did enjoy a little pain with his pleasure, but his father clearly liked inflicting it, so that could have been either of them. The lingerie? It had always been a mystery to him. He may have adopted it as his own, but from the way that boy was dressed, that kink was his father's and he no longer had to wonder why. 

He knew now that his father would never tell him to play with his little cock for him, and he would never hear the words 'baby boy' falling from his father's lips.

_ Sweetheart. Darling. Good girl. _

His father didn't  _ want _ a boy at all, but a boy was all his mother would allow, and it was evident why.

_ Four months, I think. _

Draco knew exactly why his father was only allowed to fuck young men he had no hope of actually knocking up. He knew that his father contracted his boys on a fairly regular basis from Madame Beaumonde's letter, and the next one would be soon. 

Now that Draco knew all of this, he had to decide just what to do with that information. He glanced over at his mother, pouring herself another cup of tea. She probably didn't realize, how could she, that what she had told him would most likely not be used the way she had intended. His lust for his father had not cooled one bit, and his fantasies had evolved so much over the years, they  _ could _ evolve further still. Because what was in a pet name anyway, really, when getting what he wanted was so close to being possible?


	5. Year Five: Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told from Lucius' POV. How did he get involved with his hired girls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter, told in flashback, takes place when Draco is about two years old.

Lucius Malfoy massaged the back of his neck, tilting back his head with a sigh, and dug his fingers into the knotted muscles of his shoulders. The Dark Lord's return was unexpected, and if he had to admit it, though only to himself of course, wholly undesired. He once again found himself walking the line between two worlds, only this time, he had so much more to lose. If the Dark Lord had never come back at all he wouldn't have lost any sleep over it.

Another heavy sigh fell from his lips, and he dropped his hands. It was no use. He was far too tense. His task for the Dark Lord consumed his every waking thought. The novelty was already wearing thin.

He needed to relax, and he climbed the stairs heading to his study, intent on doing exactly that. It had certainly been a while since he had had a warm body in his lap, and he could use the distraction. His mind had been focused on other things, but he intended to think of nothing more than flushed skin and breathy moans for at least the rest of the evening.

When he pushed open his study door, a curious sight greeted him. There, in the middle of the room, stood a house-elf holding a silver tray. He approached the creature, one eyebrow raised in query.

The elf tried to stand a little straighter, cringing as he drew near, but as he came closer, he suddenly lost interest in the elf in favor of what lay on the tray it held. 

He snatched it up, the rich vellum familiar in his hand, and turned it over, noting Madame Beaumonde's distinctive seal. Excitement flooded his veins, tempered only by the knowledge that the letter was wholly unexpected and might not actually be a herald of good tidings.

He glanced back at the elf. "When was this brought to you?"

The elf looked relieved at his question, but he didn't dwell on it. "Shortly after dinner, Master."

So, not long then. "Hand delivered?"

"Yes, Master."

"Is… he," the word stuck in his throat momentarily, "still here?"

The elf squirmed beneath Lucius' dark look, responding quickly, "Perhaps Master would wish to read the letter?"

Lucius looked back down at the letter in his hands, running his finger along the edge of the wax seal. He finally broke the seal, and unfolded the letter, holding his breath as he did. It was clear that he was not going to get any straight answers from the blasted creature.

_ Lucius darling, _

He rolled his eyes. Typical Beaumonde. In their long history of associating, she had never once observed proper etiquette in her correspondences. Lucius continued to read.

_ It saddens me greatly to inform you that your latest girl is no longer suited to your exacting tastes. I know you were incredibly fond of her, but they do grow up so quickly as you know. _

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Lucius scrubbed a hand over his face in irritation, massaging his temples with a groan. He had known that it was only a matter of time before he would be retiring this one, but it was absolutely terrible timing. He wondered how long it would take her to find a replacement, and seriously contemplated having one last go anyway.

_ I do hope you don't think it too forward of me, but you are simply my favorite customer. _

Lucius snorted indelicately. As much business as he did with her, he had better be her favorite, though he doubted the sincerity of her statement. Beaumonde was as ruthless a businesswoman as he had ever met. She knew just how to speak to her clientele to get them to open their wallets a little wider.

_ I just so happen to have acquired a new girl recently, and I believe she is perfectly suited for you. _

Lucius' heart skipped dangerously. It seemed that he wouldn't need to wait after all. If Beaumonde was recommending this girl, he would have her sent immediately. She knew just his type and had never once failed to deliver.

_ In fact, truth be told, I've been saving her for you. She's untested but eager; a delicate flower just waiting to open for the right man. _

Lucius adjusted his burgeoning erection in his trousers, and released a shaky breath. How long had he been waiting for Beaumonde to find him just such a girl? Too long. He had almost given up hope of ever finding one. The last time he had inquired, the girl hadn't been quite right; too rough around the edges. He liked them soft and squirming beneath him.

Like Narcissa.

Their wedding night had been everything he had ever dreamed of, and perhaps she hadn't been as vocal as he would have liked, but she had been soft in all the right places and it had been a point of pride for him when she had caught with child so quickly. Such a thing was practically unheard of outside the Weasleys.

She would have been perfect, had been perfect, until Draco had been born and she had declared her part of their marriage contract fulfilled. It was her job, she had told him, to give him an heir, not birth an entire quidditch team, and having fulfilled her part, she settled into blowing through his bank accounts at a truly impressive rate. He had gone over their contract, of course, combed through it line by line to no avail. Narcissa  _ had _ fulfilled her terms, and had done so admirably, which left him unable to claim status as the injured party.

And her stipulation, that there would be no claimants to the Malfoy fortune that did not come from her, that he would never have agreed to, had he known, tied his hands so to speak. He had tried, oh how he had tried, to convince her not to use the contraceptive charms, and despite her refusal, it was good for a time, but when a year passed, and then two, and his efforts never reflected in her flesh, he lost interest and begged her to reconsider.

And she had remained steadfast. He would use contraception or he would get nothing at all. In a fit of frustration, he had threatened to go see a whore who would give him what he needed. He had never imagined she would actually agree with him.

An hour after their argument he had a private room at Madame Beaumonde's Tea House, and a gorgeous, young thing with a rather enthusiastic tongue laving his cock-head like it was her only purpose in the world. The way she had sucked his cock was absolutely perfect, but when she had released him with a pop and flashed a sultry grin before climbing onto his lap, he had unexpectedly pushed her away. 

He found he couldn't do it. The moment he had managed to impregnate her, he would have found himself in breach of contract, and he hadn't been able to trust that she would use contraception after he left. He had unceremoniously tossed her from the room, demanding his coin returned, and slammed the door in her face before she could utter a word.

It was perhaps less than ten minutes later that the door opened, and that was when he met Beaumonde for the first time. That meeting was seared into his memory just as much as the first time he had met Lord Voldemort.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius looked up from the glass of whiskey in his hand at the sound of the latch being turned, and watched as a rather tall, well-dressed woman breezed into the room, locking the door behind her. With her back to him, his eyes drifted downward to take in the curve of her hips, and he couldn't help the stirring of interest in his trousers. He quickly averted his gaze before she caught him looking. The last thing he wanted was for her to think she had a chance at changing his mind.

"You may tell your master that you tried," he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "or I can simply throw you out too. Tell him I don't want any more girls sent up. I want my money refunded."

She sat in the chair opposite where he stood at the drinks cabinet, carefully arranging her skirts before answering. "Oh, I don't have a master, darling, and I'm afraid I'm not in the habit of giving refunds."

Lucius quirked an eyebrow at her, and she smiled brightly. "Rousseau Beaumonde. Proprietor."

"Really? You own this-" he narrowed his gaze, "why the devil is it called a 'tea house' anyway?"

"A bill from a tea house is far classier than one from a brothel, of course. You've no idea how many marriages I've saved with the name alone."

Lucius doubted her intentions were so altruistic. "I was led to believe that your establishment was the only one worth my time."

"Yes, I do have a plethora of satisfied customers."

His jaw clenched before he answered. "And yet I remain unsatisfied."

"Which is why we're here." Her smile finally broke, and she seemed serious for a change. "You see, I don't like giving out refunds, Mr. Malfoy. They're bad for business. Every refund is an unsatisfied customer who cannot sing my praises to all of their friends. Now, as a shrewd businessman, I am certain you wouldn't have a problem with allowing me the opportunity to rectify the situation."

Lucius hesitated for a moment, but then finally gestured for her to continue. 

"Excellent!" she exclaimed. With a gesture for him to take a seat, he finally did.

Beaumonde took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Now, Violet tells me that you were, in fact, enjoying yourself. Quite a lot. What happened?"

Lucius' fingers tightened on the glass in his hand. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to respond, but remained silent in the end.

"I own a brothel, Mr. Malfoy. I've seen and heard it all. You'll find no judgment here. Everything was progressing normally, until the main event. Why, then, did it go wrong?"

He cleared his throat slightly, "She wasn't on the charm," and took a sip, relishing the burn that slid down his chest.

"I'm told that you specifically requested no charms," Beaumonde answered, her brow creasing in confusion. "You paid extra for that service."

"Yes," he replied, growing agitated by the conversation, "but how am I to know she'll perform them, correctly or at all, when I'm done?"

"I can assure you that my girls aren't interested in having their customers-"

"Oh, but if she conveniently forgot, she wouldn't need to work for you anymore, would she?" He glared at Beaumonde, and was unsurprised to find that she lacked a ready reply.

"If you're so concerned about protecting your fortunes, why not just use the charms then?" He broke eye contact, and seethed as he heard a light bark of laughter.

"I see. It's the act of using the charm that diminishes your enjoyment, because you couldn't possibly impregnate her then, but it's the fear of actually succeeding that brings you to a grinding halt."

Lucius rose to refill his glass, and halted with the stopper in his hand when she asked, "Would you consider a solution that is perhaps, a little out of the ordinary?"

He looked back over his shoulder. She sat, one eyebrow raised expectantly, waiting for him to respond. "In what way?"

"No charms, but you may have to… use your imagination. Just a little."

The slightest twitch of Lucius' brows gave away his curiosity, and Beaumonde smiled before standing and striding over to the door.

"Have your drink, just enough to relax though, and get comfortable," she said, gesturing to the untouched bed. "I'll return shortly with your evening's entertainment."

Lucius stood immobile for a moment once the door had closed, and then finished topping off his drink. He removed his jacket and set it aside, loosened the collar of his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. The bed was decadent. He reclined on the mattress against the pillows, sipping slowly while he waited.

How much time passed while he waited was a mystery, but the torches in the room dimmed to a soft and sultry glow just before the door opened. Beaumonde entered in much the same manner as she had previously. This time a slender, robed figure followed close on her heels.

The lock clicked in the door. Lucius sat up, his interest piqued as the robed figure kept her face turned away, half hiding behind her mistress. Beaumonde drew back the girl's hood, and slipped the robe off her shoulders. 

Lucius' breath caught in his throat. His cock responded in an instant. She was slight, hips not  _ quite _ as developed as he preferred, breasts barely-there buds, but she was wonderfully delicate, graceful, in a way that made up for any perceived shortcomings. His gaze roved over the smooth expanse of caramel skin set aflame by the low torchlight, lingered on the snow-white lace that contrasted so beautifully against that golden glow.

Bridal lace. Tasteful. Accentuating the slender figure before him.

He raised his glass to his lips just to give himself something to do as he watched.

It reminded him of Narcissa on their wedding night. The girl kept her head down shyly, her dark hair hiding her face as Beaumonde led her over, and Lucius stood as they drew near.

He reached out, drawing a single finger down over her shoulder. His gaze flicked down, taking in the sight of a nipple hardening beneath the floral lace. He pinched the little bud, relishing the slight hitch in breathing that accompanied his rough treatment. 

"What do you think?" Beaumonde's melodic voice broke through his thoughts.

"Pretty," Lucius replied, a slight grin touching his lips. "No charms?"

"None."

"Then how-" Lucius began to ask, his gaze traveling lower over her flat stomach and... A small frown touched his features, and he tilted the girl's face upward with a finger under her chin. He snatched his hand back. His head snapped up suddenly, and he glared at Beaumonde beside him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He hissed. 

Beaumonde was unphased.

"I'm giving you what you need, darling."

"But he-"

" _ She,"  _ Beaumonde gently insisted, "is here to fulfill your fantasies. You want your fantasies fulfilled, don't you?"

"Well yes, but I don't see-"

"Yes, that's the problem, isn't it?" she muttered to herself, tapping her finger on her lip thoughtfully. "Lucius darling, why don't you close your eyes for a moment? Indulge me."

She smiled disarmingly at him. "It'll be worth it."

Lucius gave her a skeptical look, breathed deeply and let it out, closing his eyes reluctantly. He had agreed to give her a chance after all, but she definitely had some explaining to do.

"What do your senses tell you?"

His senses were at war with his brain. That one, deep breath had filled his nose even before his eyes were closed. He could smell perfume: vanilla and decadent fruit. It tickled his nostrils enticingly. He stiffened, his brows knitting together at the tentative press of a slender body against his own, but then he relaxed when a small hand ghosted down his chest and stomach, intent on joining the other at the front of his trousers. 

With his eyes closed, his senses were screaming one thing, and one thing only, and it was so easy to imagine...

Of its own accord, his hand came up to rest on the slight curve of a hip, and the pads of his fingers brushed circles over the whirls of lace beneath them.

"You've been thinking with the wrong head, darling. Trust me, you're not the first client to want something he thought he couldn't have."

Lucius sucked in a sharp breath when those nimble fingers opened his trousers and his throbbing erection sprang out into soft hands.

"Though most cannot boast such… impressive equipment." From the tone of her voice, Lucius didn't think she was merely attempting to flatter him. He knew he wasn't small. Narcissa had trembled with nerves on their wedding night.

"No wonder you like the idea of planting your seed in fertile ground. Mara?"

"Mistress?" It was spoken in such a sweetly, melodic voice that his stomach muscles tightened and his cock jumped in the small hands stroking him.

"Why don't you show Mr. Malfoy how eager you are at the mere thought of growing fat and round with his babies?"

Lucius was still processing the undeniably enticing imagery, 'Mara' was just androgynous enough that he could easily see it, when he felt fingers interlace with his own on her hip and slowly begin to move his hand. 

"It's impossible though," he murmured, reality intruding on his fantasy.

"Is it?" Beaumonde questioned. "Certainly a man of your standing has heard tales of such a rare specimen for which it  _ is _ possible though rather unlikely?"

Ridiculous. Complete nonsense. He had never heard of such a thing. Mara stroked her thumb across the head of his cock, pressing into the slit.

"Yes, of course," he hissed.

Lucius licked his lips, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and gave Mara's bottom a squeeze before she guided his hand farther back. There was a slit in the garment, and Lucius probed at it curiously. He practically growled when his fingers encountered slick wetness almost exactly like-

Mara writhed in his arms, spreading her legs slightly and sticking out her bottom to make it easier for him to explore. He pressed against the slickly furled muscle until his finger slipped inside. It was certainly different, and it was amazing how little that mattered when Mara clenched her muscles around the intruding digit, arched her back, and moaned.

"Are you going to fill me up, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, voice breathless and sultry. "I'd be ever such a good girl for you, Sir."

She squeezed his cock, and the muscles around his fingers, and leaned down to swipe her tongue across the weeping tip. "You could ruin me, wreck my little pussy, and plug me up with your come, give me no choice  _ but _ to be a breeding bitch for you and I'd love every second of it."

Lucius groaned aloud as she squirmed against him, squeezing the head of his cock in her small hand. The thought of doing exactly that made him as hard as he had been on his wedding night. He spun Mara around, pulling her back against his chest, his hands going to her hips to hold her still.

It was even easier in this position to ignore the things he didn't want to think about. He buried his nose in Mara's fragrant hair and ground against her lovely bottom with a groan.

"Well, I think I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

Lucius opened his eyes and looked at Beaumonde. He had completely forgotten the woman was even there.

"Enjoy yourself tonight," she smirked at him, "and if you aren't completely hooked the next time you visit, I'll concede and give you a refund in full."

Lucius doubted Beaumonde could offer anything different that would change his mind the second time around, but this one was pretty enough that he had no qualms about taking care of the rather large problem he had right now. He would be leaving the lingerie on though. Considering the conveniently placed slit in the fabric, he was probably meant to.

The sound of the door opening was unmistakable over the sounds of Mara mewling under his touch as he pushed her onto the decadent bed, and he heard the latch click into place as he forced Mara's thighs apart and settled between them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius closed his eyes, and raked a hand through his hair, gripping the letter he held tightly as the memory washed over him. He had ended up enjoying his evening with Mara immensely, and rather than get his refund from Beaumonde as he had expected, he had become one of her most loyal customers when she had entered the same room several months later with Mara trailing after her. His gaze had been utterly fixated on the girl, and he had barely spared Beaumonde a glance once he had caught sight of Mara's glowing skin and slightly rounded belly. 

He had all but thrown Beaumonde from the room prepared to pay any price she named, and set about claiming Mara all over again. There was only one problem with Mara and all the others Beaumonde had sent to him over the years. They were all experienced, consummate professionals, and as much as he enjoyed them, he could never truly forget what they were.

Lucius opened his eyes, reading the last few sentences of Beaumonde's letter.

_ We can discuss payment at a later time. For now, enjoy the gift I've left in your bed, but go easy on her, darling. She doesn't know what to expect from you. _

"Where is your mistress?" Lucius asked of the elf, not that he wouldn't enjoy his gift right under her nose. Narcissa had long ago lost the right to care what, or who, he did.

"Mistress is in Paris," the elf squeaked. "And Milan. And Frankfurt. And-"

Lucius waved off the elf in irritation. Of course she was off on a bloody world tour. She probably wouldn't be home for a month and his accounts would be... He preferred not to think of it. His gaze slid back to the letter.

Certainly Beaumonde would let him keep his gift for a few days. Narcissa was gone and Draco hadn't taken the train home immediately. He had the time to enjoy himself and he planned to.

He shrugged off his outer cloak and thrust it at the elf. "I'm not to be disturbed."

The elf oddly looked relieved again, but he chose not to dwell on it. Instead, Lucius quickly made his way down the halls towards the family wing and his bedroom suite where his gift awaited. 

He pushed open the door slowly. Candles scattered about burned low, casting the room in dim light. Lucius closed the door quietly behind himself before moving closer to the bed. A little flutter of excitement struck him as his gaze landed on the figure curled up in his bed.

Her back was to him, and she looked as though she had dozed off waiting for him to arrive. Lucius set Beaumonde's letter on the nightstand, and eased onto the edge of the bed. Her delicate skin glowed honey in the darkened room, long silken hair covering her face.

Lucius' gaze traveled down the girl's back, an appreciative noise escaping him. Beaumonde had outdone herself with this one. There was nothing inherently wrong with the corsets his girls usually wore, but he much preferred the look of a blushing bride on her wedding night. Mara and a handful of others had dressed the part, but were far too jaded to truly have that air of innocence promised.

His tongue peeked out to wet his lips. This one was supposed to be innocent, truly, and he almost hated to break the illusion in case that wasn't so. He reached out to hesitantly run his fingertips down the gentle curve of the girl's spine.

She sighed and shied away, turning her face further into the pillows before settling again. Lucius wondered where Beaumonde had found her. The long blonde hair and willowy figure reminded him of a young Narcissa, and he had to admit, he was quite taken with the figure presented to him.

He let his fingers dance over the top of her shoulder and slip beneath the strappy lace. This time when she stirred and began to stretch, she came to a grinding halt, suddenly realizing that she wasn't alone anymore.

"It's all right, sweetheart," Lucius murmured soothingly, a grin on his face, as she ducked her head and hid from him. He could imagine the pretty blush staining her cheeks and creeping down her neck and he petted her soft hair before leaning over to press his lips to her shoulder. 

A shiver ran through her body in response to his gentle caress, and he swore he could hear a slight whimper. There was no doubt in Lucius' mind that Beaumonde had finally sent him a lovely little thing that he could utterly ruin and claim for his own. "There's no need to be shy."

Lucius drew down the sheet covering her from the waist down, and groaned, biting into the curve of the girl's shoulder and snaking his tongue across her skin to soothe the bite as he unveiled one of his favorite sights: pale, shapely legs encased in sheer, white stockings. He traced the seam up the back of one thigh, and climbed into bed behind the girl, pulling her close to let her feel his erection prodding between her cheeks.

She mewled, pressing back against him, and Lucius smiled, sinking his teeth into her flesh, reveling in the warmth of her skin. His fingers skimmed over her lace-covered ribcage, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. 

“I love how responsive you are," Lucius murmured, kissing the shoulder he had just bitten. "I think you'll enjoy yourself tonight, darling. I know I will..."


	6. Year Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucius doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth too closely, and Draco bold move works out in his favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I feel I should add another disclaimer. This chapter takes place in fifth year which makes Draco still underage. I don't know why I like year five so much. It must be because Lucius is so yummy in the fifth movie. That sleek, silky hair and all that leather. Mmm. Yes, that must be it. I also want to say that the use of pronouns in this story is not meant to offend anyone. With Lucius' breeding kink, it's just the way it worked itself out. And one last disclaimer. I absolutely do not condone any of what takes place in this fic in real life. It's just that: fiction. Now then. Thank you for reading and please enjoy the utter filth.

Draco began to stretch, coming awake slowly, a small noise escaping his throat. There was a part of him that was convinced he was still dreaming, but something in his brain warned him in the moments before he fully woke and turned towards the featherlight caresses against his back that what he felt was real. He froze, his belly twisting itself in knots as his father murmured soothing words, and he was unable to stop the shiver of delight nor suppress his needy moan as his father's lips, real and warm, pressed against his skin just like he had dreamed for ages.

His father pulled down the sheet, and he felt him slide into bed behind him, and then Draco's senses were overloaded. He had worried, when hatching his scheme, that it was a mistake, but he had grown his hair out anyway starting the first day of the new school term, because it would be easier to hide his identity. He had bought the classiest set of lingerie he could find on a Hogsmeade weekend, because he had spied on his father often enough since that first time to recognize what would be irresistible to him. And he had written and rewritten "Beaumonde's" letter until he had finally crafted something that he hoped would pass his father's inspection, re-affixing the Madame's carefully preserved seal as the final touch.

With his father pressed against his back, his lips and hands all over him for the first time ever, Draco could no longer bring himself to believe that it had been a mistake. He just wished he had thought to glamour himself with the way his father kept trying to turn him around. Considering he always took his whores from behind the first time, he hadn't thought it would be an issue. At least the sparse lighting from the few scattered candles kept him in relative darkness.

Eventually his father gave it up, content to let 'his girl' remain mysteriously shy in his arms. Draco ground back against his father's erection, mewling in anticipation as the sizable bulge prodded at the cleft of his arse. The promise nestled between his cheeks terrified him as much as it excited him. He didn't have to see it to know that it dwarfed his own meagre appendage, trapped and throbbing in his pretty knickers.

His father bit down into his shoulder with a low growl, his hand clutching hard at his hip to keep him still. Draco cried out, pressing back against the hard body behind him. 

“I love how responsive you are," his father murmurs, kissing the shoulder he had just bitten. The hand holding onto his hip strokes up his side before coming to rest low on his belly, caressing there in gentle circles. "I think you'll enjoy yourself tonight, darling. I know I will..."

The dark promise in his father's voice makes butterflies dart around in his stomach, and his father grasps him by the hand, guiding it downwards. Draco sneaks a glance, and watches. He watches as his father places his hand, small and delicate in his larger one, over his cock, giving him a squeeze before letting go. 

"Play with your clit for me, darling," his father whispers heatedly in his ear.

Draco slips his hand inside his knickers and strokes himself, presses his lips together as he jerks at the familiar, pleasurable sensation, heightened by the knowledge that his father is watching this time. 

Fingertips press against his mouth, prying his lips apart.

"No, sweetheart. I want to hear you."

Draco moans and two of those fingers slip into his mouth to rest against his tongue. There is an indefinable quality to the taste of his skin. Much like the scent of his cologne, his father's taste is unique to him, just as he had imagined. His scent surrounds him, and as Draco's tongue swirls around the digits he briefly wonders what his father tastes like elsewhere. His father's lips are on his neck, sucking possessive marks into his pale skin. 

He presses back against the delicious heat of his father's body. His eyes drift closed, and Draco just feels. He can't get enough of it.

A soft thud on the mattress forces Draco's eyes open. He sees the scarf he gave his father lying there next to him, and sucks harder, groaning low in his throat.

Once the fingers in his mouth are thoroughly coated, his father slips them free and draws back slightly, creating a bit of space between them. Draco whimpers at the loss, but his father shushes him, and reaches down to grasp the back of his knickers. He pulls them down slowly, exposing his bottom, and Draco hears his father audibly swallow before there are wet fingers delving insistently between his cheeks.

Draco makes a choked noise as one of those fingers breaches him, and he whines when it corkscrews into him. He squirms at the uncomfortable burn, the finger exploring inside him far larger than his own slender digits. Draco's hand has stopped moving over his- he blinks rapidly for a moment to clear his head- his clit, and he strokes himself again in time with his father's finger twisting as he works to open him up.

"It seems your mistress wasn't lying to me after all," his father murmurs, a touch of disbelief in his voice. "Such a tiny, tight, little pussy can't have been touched before."

His father presses deep one more time, ghosting over his prostate, and withdraws slowly.

" _Daddy please_ ," Draco whispers, his words freezing in his throat as he realizes his error. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and then he hears a soft laugh from behind him.

"Is that what you like, darling?"

Draco doesn't answer; doesn't know how to. His father's finger presses inside him again, stroking relentlessly over his prostate now, and it makes Draco cry out in sweet agony.

"You want to be Daddy's good girl, don't you?"

He clenches around his father's finger involuntarily. It's _so close_ to what he has longed to hear.

"Because we could do that…," his father murmurs, dipping his head to nuzzle at Draco's shoulder before he bites him again, his tongue snaking across his skin to soothe.

"Would you like that, darling? To be stuffed so full of Daddy's cock that you _choke on it_."

The last few words are a growl as his father rotates his hand and tugs at his rim. Draco bites his lip to cut off his cry and nods frantically.

His father withdraws again, crawling over Draco and reaching towards the nightstand. Draco ducks his face against the pillows again, staying put until his father is behind him once more laying a hand gently on his hip.

He hears a cork being unstoppered, and then his father is urging him into a new position, familiar from the many times he's spied from the shadows in his father's study. His knickers are pulled down to tangle about his knees, and he can hear the clink of his father's belt buckle and the rustle of cloth.

His father pauses.

It isn't until Draco starts to fidget that his father reaches out to caress one of his round cheeks possessively.

He gives it a squeeze.

It isn't until Draco utters a needy whine that his father finally speaks.

"Use your words, baby. Good girls ask for what they want."

This time Draco is careful to disguise his voice. He mimics the breathy tones he has heard his father's whores use. It isn't difficult. He has practiced in the privacy of his bedroom often enough, and he lets himself speak aloud those secret words to the only man he's wanted to say them to for so long.

"Daddy…" Draco arches his back and sticks out his bottom in what he hopes is an enticing manner. He shudders as his father's fingers tighten on his flesh.

"Tell Daddy what you need, baby."

"You. Please… I feel so empty."

His father slides his thumb, slick this time, between his cheeks, and strokes the pad across his furled hole. Draco pushes back until it breaches him. He groans and his father echoes it, sounding utterly captivated when he speaks. "Beaumonde didn't warn you, did she?"

Draco stops moving, confusion furrowing his brow. Seeing as he had never actually met the woman, that was true, but he had no idea what he should have been warned about. His father's thumb is replaced by his finger again, and then far too quickly a second is pressing in beside the other. Draco jerks with a gasp, surprised at the small flash of pain from the sudden stretch, and shies away.

His father's hand is suddenly splayed in the middle of his back, and he presses him down into the mattress and holds him there to keep him from fleeing. 

"Don't run, sweetheart."

His hand moves back to his hip, keeping him still, and he utters soothing words even as he ruthlessly prepares him for his cock.

"It's for your own good."

Draco clutches at the sheets and buries his face in the pillow, and soon the pain begins to subside and it feels good again.

"If she had warned you, then you would have spent a little more time getting yourself ready." He hears a note of wicked amusement enter his father's voice. "But perhaps she wanted me to be certain of your innocence before I took you."

"Yes, take me. Please. Want you now." And he spreads his legs a bit wider, offering himself to his father. Draco knows he is starting to babble a bit, but he doesn't care so long as he gets what he wants.

His father laughs. "So impatient, but you're not ready. I don't intend to rip you apart, darling. I intend to enjoy you."

Draco can feel the head of his father's cock brush against the back of his thigh. In all the times he has spied on his father he has never managed to get a good look at him. Not for lack of trying, but his father's whores always managed to be in his way. Now it's painting sticky trails on his skin and he still doesn't know what it looks like, but he dares not turn around and reveal himself.

His father ceases the exquisite torture he's inflicting on him, stopping to part Draco's cheeks, hooking him open with his thumbs. Draco can imagine the rapturous, hungry look on his father's face, recalled easily from memory. He longs for his father to lean forward and taste him, to drive him mad with his wicked tongue.

"You're a bold, little thing, aren't you?" his father asks darkly.

"What?" 

Oh no. 

Draco's thoughts race through his mind. Had he really just shamelessly begged for his father's tongue? Yes, he must have. His father is stiff behind him, and his hands no longer caress possessively.

"I'm sorry-"

"Silence," his father hisses, and Draco clamps his mouth shut. He is so quiet behind him for so long that it frightens Draco. His father is utterly terrifying when he isn't raging in anger. It's his still, simmering rage that frightens him the most.

"Tell me why I shouldn't punish you and send you back to your mistress."

Sheer panic grips Draco's brain. He casts about for a reason, any reason at all. His heart thumps hard in his chest. He knows he's been silent too long and whispers the first thing that comes to mind. 

"I've wanted you for years!" The truth is so much easier than making up a lie in his panicked state.

He hears his father's indrawn breath and soldiers on.

"I dream about you. I touch myself and pretend it's you. You're all I've ever wanted."

Draco holds quite still, waiting for his father to say or do something. He trembles in anticipation of exactly what his father will do. Draco jerks in surprise as a single finger strokes tenderly over the curve of his arse.

"Is that why there have been no others?"

"There's only you," Draco replies quietly, and then remembering what his father likes to hear, he adds, "and I will have Malfoy babies or none at all."

Not hardly a lie. It makes his father groan and surprisingly it makes Draco hard again. He tilts his hips up, offering himself, and smiles when his father grasps both cheeks in his large hands and parts him, rubbing a thumb over his aching hole.

"You would be my own personal whore?" His father's voice is low and gravelly with his arousal.

"I'm already your whore. You just haven't known it."

"Mmm, I thought you were my good girl." There is dark amusement in his words, and his hands begin to glide over Draco's body once more.

"I'm whatever you want me to be."

"And yet you won't show me your face. Are you hideous? Is that why?" 

The casual way his father tosses out the question momentarily stuns Draco. His father's tone is mildly curious, as though he truly doesn't care what answer he receives. And maybe that's true. After all, from what Draco can tell, his father's whores have only ever shared one thing in common. They were young and tender enough to still pass for female so long as one didn't look too closely.

Draco doesn't say a word; not to acknowledge nor deny. He _cannot_ reveal himself. It's best his father believes whatever he wishes. He's had plenty of practice at it anyway.

"It doesn't matter," he continues when Draco remains silent.

His father's hands slide sensually down his sides to grasp him by the waist. He pulls him back harshly, driving his hips hard against his bottom. Draco feels lightheaded as the breath is driven from his lungs.

His father's cock is trapped between them, gliding smoothly within his slick cleft. It feels impossibly huge rubbing up against him, and he suddenly worries that his father's earlier warning was less prideful posturing than it was supreme confidence borne of past conquests.

"I'll have you regardless."

He slides a hand beneath Draco to caress his lace-covered belly possessively, and leans down over him to bite into his shoulder. His other hand fists into the hair at his nape and he speaks into his ear with a low, rumbling growl. 

"It doesn't matter how special you think you are. _This,"_ and his fingers curl against the flesh of his stomach, "is all that matters. You're a hole for me to fuck, a cunt for me to breed, and a womb to carry to my progeny."

Draco's breath has grown shallow as he listens to his father spout such filth. He has to swallow and bite back a moan as fresh arousal floods his body. The words are not new, not by a long shot, but it's a wholly transcendent experience to have them directed at him.

His father pushes up off his back, shoving his face into the mattress again in the process. Draco recognizes in the rough gesture that he is not meant to get up, which is good because it makes it easier to hide. He's witnessed this moment numerous times, and takes a steadying breath. He can imagine his father looking down on him. Can imagine him with his hand moving between his legs, stroking the cock he's never seen.

His father's left hand splays across his lower back, slides across his skin to grasp him by the hip. Draco's knees shift as he widens his stance. He hears a soft laugh escape his father's throat. He's shaking with anticipation, but his father doesn't move, doesn't take what he so clearly wants.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs instead. "And so bold... I don't think I've ever had one as bold as you."

Draco utters a short, sharp scream that's muffled by the pillow as his cheeks are parted and warm wetness presses experimentally against the furled ring of muscle.

"Hmm, not what I expected." A finger slides smoothly inside him.

" _Ah fuck…_ ," Draco hisses as it crooks and strokes across his prostate.

An amused chuckle comes from behind him. "Language, darling. I must admit, it's not altogether unpleasant." 

"In fact, you taste almost sweet. I wonder if that will change after I've made a proper woman out of you." He withdraws and leans in to lick him again.

Draco's eyes roll back. His mouth drops open in a low moan. Despite all his fantasies he's never imagined anything close to the feeling of his father's stubble rasping across his tender skin. None of his fantasies have accurately captured the exquisite feeling of his father's agile tongue feasting on him so intimately.

He reaches between his legs to stroke himself and finds his hand knocked away. When he reaches for himself a second time, his father grasps him harshly by the wrist and draws it behind his back.

"If I want you to touch yourself, I'll tell you so. Your cheek might be a refreshing change, but don't, _for one second_ , forget your place."

His father's discarded scarf disappears from view next to him and familiar rich fabric winds serpentine around his wrist. His left hand joins his right at the small of his back. Draco tucks his chin against his chest as he falls forward so that he can still breathe, and lets loose a soft grunt when the knot is pulled tight and his father releases him.

He can hear the rest of his father's clothing being discarded; the soft thump as it lands on the floor. Draco flexes his fingers experimentally, but the knot is solid and his bonds hold strong.

"You should relax. Not that it will really help,” his father whispers darkly and drizzles a measure of oil directly onto his arsehole, pushing in his fingers to slick his insides. A third finally finds its way inside him making Draco gasp sharply. 

The stretch is almost painful, but then all the fingers are gone before it can turn pleasant again and the blunt head of his father's cock is pressing against him. It suddenly dawns on Draco that his father has spent much less time actually preparing him than he's seen him do with the others. He hasn't even made it to four fingers.

"Wait! I'm not ready. You haven't-"

"You're ready enough. Did you truly think I was going to waste my gift? Intact whores are so difficult to come by." 

His father breaches him. Draco's mouth hangs open in a scream, but he can't force the sound past his lips. It's stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. White-hot pain ignites at the base of his spine and crawls up into his stomach. The blood begins to rush through his veins. He can hear it pounding in his ears, and distantly, beyond that, he can hear his father telling him to breathe, but he can't make his body obey.

When he jolts back to his senses the searing pain in his spine has given way to a dull throbbing in his arse, and a sense of being too full. He groans as his father shifts slightly, bringing a fresh wave of pain with the movement.

"Back with me?" his father asks smugly. "I have to say, I've never had anyone faint on me before."

He shifts again, the trail of hair on his stomach brushing against Draco's curled knuckles, and Draco realizes that his father never stopped during his momentary blackout, and that too-full feeling is because the entire length of his father's cock is wedged inside his arsehole. 

His father withdraws slowly.

Draco bites into his bottom lip.

_By the gods, it hurts!_

"By the gods, keep milking me like that, sweetheart."

Draco wants to say that it is involuntary, that he is as helpless to make it happen as he is to make it stop, but all that comes out is a sad little whimper. 

Then finally...

Finally! 

Draco shudders in relief. His father is no longer splitting him open, only now he feels hollowed out by the experience. 

"Will you look at that?" his father murmurs in awe. "You're certainly not a virgin anymore."

This time the oil is poured directly into his hole, and his father is sinking back inside him quicker than the last time until he's once again pressed flush against Draco's hips. Stars burst behind his eyelids and he sobs at the unbelievable stretch.

"Now be a good girl and beg for Daddy's cock, darling."

His thighs shake uncontrollably. Oh Merlin. Draco doesn't think he can take it. He yelps when his father swats him in warning.

"Daddy," he chokes out obediently, "please fuck me."

His father withdraws and oils him all over again, thrusting in deep and staying there. He swats Draco again.

"I need your cock."

And then once more, he slicks him thoroughly, sinking in fully in one smooth stroke. 

This time Draco doesn't even pause.

"Need you to fill me up. Please Daddy…"

His father groans and then he grasps Draco's hips and begins to fuck him without restraint.

Draco's eyes slide open and he looks down the length of his body between his legs. His cock, so hard before, has wilted in response to his father's reckless thrusting. It flops about like a dying fish, shriveled and pathetic.

His father is already breathing hard, moaning like he's having the time of his life. "You like that, don't you, baby?"

 _Fuck no,_ Draco thinks, but only whimpers aloud. It's so bloody uncomfortable. He has no idea how all those other boys took it so well.

In his father's darkened bedroom, there are only the sounds of his father's laboured breathing and deep moans, the wet squelch as his enormous cock ploughs through Draco's well-lubricated hole, and the slap of his balls against his own. He watches them dangle, full and heavy, dwarfing his own as they're squished between them every time his father's groin meets his arse. Draco's eyes drift closed and he squeezes them shut as he waits for it to be over.

He gasps suddenly, throwing his head back as his back arches sharply.

"There it is," his father practically purrs in satisfaction. 

Strong fingers wind into the long hair at the base of Draco's skull and hold him there. His father drives hard against his prostate again and again. The pleasure is so exquisite it's almost painful in a different way. There are tears streaming down his face, but the dribble of precome sliding down the renewed erection between his legs is proof that they're not borne of pain.

"You like that, baby?"

Draco shudders and moans in reply.

"Good girls use their words, remember?"

The words… They rattle around inside him. There are too many, and he can't find the right ones to accurately describe how much he likes what his father is making him feel. And then his father changes the angle of his stroke, and all the air leaves Draco's lungs, a pleasure-drunk smile creeping across his face as his eyes flutter closed.

"Oh, _so_ good, Daddy," he sighs. "Feels so good." 

Draco can't believe all those boys make his father pay for this experience. Why aren't they beating down his door and begging for the privilege? He would give up everything he owned right now to feel this again.

His father lets go of his hair. Slides his hand down Draco's spine like he's seen him do a dozen times or more. He grasps both of Draco's hips in his large hands and stops moving completely.

"No, don't stop!" Draco whines and pushes back, trying desperately to fuck himself on his father's cock. It's a futile effort. His father is bigger and stronger, and Draco has no leverage with his hands bound behind his back.

He does the only thing he can do. He clenches around his father, milking him in an attempt to convince him to continue where he left off. His father withdraws completely instead.

"Nooo," Draco moans. "Daddy, fuck me please! I'm yours… Split me open. Ruin me so that everyone knows I'm yours."

He hears his father's unmistakable moan. Why isn't he fucking him when it's clear he wants to?

"Come inside me..."

His father's breath hitches and Draco latches on to that.

"I need you to come inside me. It's where you belong. Come so deep you can't help but knock me up."

His father actually growls. There's no other way to describe the sound that rips its way from his throat. He reaches forward to drag a couple of pillows closer and stuff them beneath Draco's stomach, and without missing a beat, shoves him forward to lie across them. 

A hand kneads his right cheek roughly. Knees nudge his legs wider apart as his father settles behind him. Draco relaxes further into the pillows. He tries to anyway. The new position leaves much to be desired as far as breathing is concerned.

"Daddy, will you untie me? Please? I promise I won't touch myself."

Draco can hear his father sigh, and he struggles to take in air while he deliberates. Finally his father tugs the knots free, and Draco's arms fall to his sides, his fingers tingling slightly as proper blood flow is restored. He folds his arms beneath his head and tucks his face into the crook of his elbow.

Not a moment later, his father guides himself to press the head of his cock against Draco's eager hole, sinking inside in one fluid motion until he's buried to the hilt with a groan. Both of his hands return to Draco's hips and his father pulls all the way out before thrusting back into him hard. He sets a slow, deep, bone jarring pace, a complete departure from before, entering him again and again to make Draco take and feel every inch of him.

Draco shoves himself backwards as his father drives forward and then Draco's meeting his every thrust as his father picks up the pace. He rutts against the pillow, hissing at the sweet friction on his aching cock. He's so close.

"Come on. Come on Daddy's cock, sweetheart," his father murmurs, dipping his head to rasp his tongue over long-forgotten bites and mouth at the pale expanse of Draco's sweaty skin.

It's enough to make Draco stiffen and cry out as he spends himself into the pillow beneath his hips. His father grunts when Draco clenches around him. He buries himself balls deep, hips losing the rhythm. His left hand shoots out, landing on the mattress next to Draco's own so that he doesn't completely collapse on top of him.

The twitch and pulse of his father's cock is unexpected. Nothing he's used to aid his fantasies could prepare him for that. And the delicious heat of his father's come filling him up? Draco can feel every single spurt, and for the first time, everything feels right, feels as it should, and he knows he'll never have this again.

His father shifts them to lie on their sides. He's still inside Draco, softening, but he stays where he is, where he belongs. He tosses the stained pillows aside, and Draco is grateful because he was getting rather sticky and uncomfortable. His father snakes an arm around him, pulls him closer to spoon against his back, and Draco can already hear how his father's breathing begins to even out.

Until his father is sound asleep there's little he can do. He can't sneak away and risk getting caught. The candles burned out long ago and the room is now lit only by moonlight. It's almost romantic. Draco relaxes in his father's arms, fully intending to savor the last few minutes he'll have of this before he has to bid it goodbye.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius came awake slowly and stretched languidly, his body sated and muscles aching pleasantly. He hadn't realized how badly he had needed the distraction, how tightly wound he had really been. Beaumonde would probably extort him for a small fortune, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

Everything about the girl had been perfect, so perfect that he had found himself doing things he never would have considered otherwise. All the others had been jaded professionals. No matter how they pretended, even the most talented actors among them couldn't completely hide their boredom or their disdain for their profession. Lucius supposed he couldn't really blame them, but he didn't have to like it.

This new girl though… was something else entirely. He could feel just how much she had wanted him in every tremulous admission, every sigh and gasp. Lucius slipped a hand beneath the bedsheet pooled at his waist and began to lazily stroke his half-hard cock. He did feel a little guilty that he had been a bit rough with her, but he hadn't had such a perfect night since his wedding night, and even then, Narcissa's response had been cold and aloof and even worse than the false flattery of the professionals he paid for. Besides, the girl was probably a masochist anyway judging from her behavior. He looked forward to finding out for certain.

Early morning sunlight slanted in through the curtains of the high windows, warming his foot where it peeked out from beneath the sheets. He dragged the pad of his thumb across the weeping head of his cock, digging the nail into the slit, and sighed, his mouth quirking at the corners in a lazy grin. Lucius pushed himself up onto his elbow and turned towards the smaller figure next to him, and reached out to allow his fingertips to skim down the slender, lace-covered back before him.

There was a moment of confusion when she turned with a sigh to curl against his chest. He blinked slowly, canted his head to the side and furrowed his brow.

The smile died on his lips and his stomach heaved a moment before he felt bile prickling in the back of his throat. When Draco's eyelids fluttered open and then widened in realization before he looked up at him guiltily, Lucius turned and promptly lost the contents of his stomach over the side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm leaving it on a major cliffhanger, but the next chapter is going to take a little longer to come out. My bitch of a muse is finally cooperating on a story she's been refusing to work on for a while now.


	7. Year Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco longs for forgiveness and Lucius struggles to remain sane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news and bad news. Bad news is that this is a super short chapter. More like a drabble. The good news is that it's a double post! Next chapter inbound!!

Draco swiped absently at his cheek, surprised when his fingers came away wet. He clutched his father's cane to his chest, and tried desperately to hold onto what remained of his composure, but it was  _ so _ fucking difficult. His father wasn't coming home, and he wouldn't be for a long time, and Draco couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault.

The memory of the disgust contorting his father's features was seared in his mind, the angry hiss and vitriol as his father all but leaped from bed, wrapping the silken bedsheet around his waist, had drowned out Draco's pleas for him to listen, and the slamming of the adjoining bathroom door had been like a knife through his heart. He had gathered up his clothes, fleeing from the room with tears streaming down his face, chest heaving from his uncontrollable sobbing. Draco hadn't seen his father again for the remainder of the Christmas holidays. 

He hadn't seen him again until he stood trial as an outed Death Eater, but even then, months later, his father hadn't even deigned to look at him. Did he blame him for his sentence? Would he have been captured at all had he been able to focus entirely on the battle around him?

Draco's gaze shifted to the house-elf next to him, standing quietly, if nervously.

"Do you recognize me as Master of this house?" he asked in the most commanding voice he could muster.

"Yes, Master Draco."

Draco had to fight back tears anew at this confirmation. He handed over his father's precious cane.

"Then I command you to strike me until I beg for my father's forgiveness."

The creature looked stricken by this order. "But Master-"

"You'll iron your hands and then I'll give you clothes if you don't. Is that understood?"

"Yes Master."

Draco nodded, and then dropped his trousers, bending over the edge of his father's desk. He closed his eyes, imagining that it was his father standing behind him instead, and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. 

"Then begin."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius Malfoy hugged his knees to his chest as he rocked himself gently in the dark corner of his cell. His brows were knitted together as he grasped at the edges of a memory, his tears forming a puddle between his feet as Draco's first- Was it his first broom ride? His first step?

A quiet sob wracked Lucius' body as he realized it was gone; stolen away like it had never existed, save for the certainty that something important was no longer there.

He leaned back against the wall, gazing up bleakly at the stone ceiling.

How much more would be taken from him before he left this place?


	8. Year Seven Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue conversation.

Draco wanted so badly to hide himself away for his father's return. He didn't think he could bear to see  _ that _ look on his father's face again, but it wasn't something he wanted to try explaining to his mother, so he stood in the foyer, his back ramrod straight, as he waited next to her, to greet the returning patriarch of Malfoy Manor. His mother wore a bored expression on her face when he glanced at her, looking for all the world like she'd rather be anywhere else. 

He fidgeted, tugging at the collar of his shirt, his cuffs, until his mother finally hissed at him in irritation to stop. At long last there was a noise that made Draco hold his breath, and then the handle of the Manor's great, front door turned slowly, an eternity passing before the door itself swung open on silent hinges.

"Welcome home, darling." His mother still sounded just as bored as she had looked earlier, but Draco couldn't tear his eyes away to look at her.

The man standing before him in the entryway looked like his father, or a nightmare version of him. Same hair, though dull rather than lustrous. Same expensive clothes, but they seemed ill-fitting. One thing was certainly new. There was a haunted look about him that hadn't been there previously, and he wouldn't meet Draco's eyes nor even look at him. 

His mother nudged him, and he dutifully murmured, "Welcome home, father."

It was at the sound of his voice that his father's gaze finally locked onto his own. His piercing grey eyes lit up briefly in recognition before flitting away, taking in other details about him.

His father's voice was soft when he responded, scratchy, as though it had been ages since he had uttered a single word aloud. "You cut your hair…" 

"I- yes," Draco stuttered, unsure of how to respond or why it mattered. 

"Father?" he questioned, but his father was no longer focused on him; was, in fact, brushing past him on his way up the main staircase.

"Thank Merlin that's over and done with," his mother sighed in exasperation. 

She turned, snatching her cloak from the nearby house-elf, and left Draco standing alone in the foyer. He watched his father's back as he climbed the main staircase until he disappeared from sight, and then he slowly followed behind.

Draco paused when his father stopped in the hallway. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the door to his father's study clicked closed softly. Draco stood in the hall, staring at the heavy, wooden door. He was confused. His father didn’t seem to be disgusted with him still, but at the same time, he had taken the opportunity to get away from him as quickly as he could. He glanced back the way he had come.

If he was going to press his father to talk about what had happened, now was the time while his mother was out of the house. There would probably be shouting. There would almost certainly be crying. They hadn't parted on good terms, and his father had had plenty of time in Azkaban to ruminate on what had taken place between them.

Draco squared his shoulders and lifted his hand, stopping abruptly before he could even touch the door. He had stood in the hall in indecision far longer than he had thought. The low murmur of voices tickled his ears from the other side of the door. Moments later came a sound that was in no way ambiguous. 

He had heard that sound before. Many times. Intimately.

Draco was unsurprised that after his return from Azkaban his father would call for one of his boys, though he was bitterly disappointed. It meant that for his father nothing had changed. Draco dropped his hand, stepped back, and slid down the wall to stare at the door, a bleak expression on his face.

Talking to his father would be a useless endeavour. A loud thud and a cry came from behind the closed door. His father didn't want him, clearly, didn't want anything to do with him, and there was nothing Draco could do or say that would change that.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius tilted his head back, and closed his eyes as he sank into the familiar cushions of the plush sofa in his study. The horrors of Azkaban melted away under the expert play of tongue and near-scalding heat of the mouth devouring his cock. It was a balm that soothed his ravaged soul. He threaded his fingers into silky-soft hair that was almost too short to properly grasp, and groaned, thrusting languidly into the willing whore between his knees.

"That's it, darling," Lucius murmurs with a sigh of contentment. "Take all of it… Open up for-"

His eyes snap open and he lifts his head from where it rests against the back of the sofa. A glance downward reveals that he wasn't heard or was possibly ignored. Lucius studies the boy's face.

He's not quite right, a little too masculine for his taste, but Lucius hadn't expected much on such short notice. His hands fist in the boy's hair, a sudden, irrational surge of anger consuming him. The boy's eyes fly open, and he whimpers in protest, choking as Lucius forces him to take more than he's prepared for.

It isn't even the boy's appearance that angers Lucius. He shoves him away and stands abruptly, throwing him face-first into the sofa so hard the end table rattles and a bronze bust of Salazar Slytherin that he's always hated topples to the floor with a thud. 

Lucius crawls on top of the boy, aligns himself, and thrusts inside, wringing a startled cry that he ignores as he sets a brutal pace. The boy doesn't even pretend to enjoy himself; merely endures as best he can, and some of Lucius' anger dissipates as a result. 

No, it isn't his appearance or his obvious skill and experience, it's that Lucius can't immerse himself in his most comforting fantasies without recalling  _ that _ night, when everything was perfect until it wasn't. He can't even think of the boy as anything other than that, a boy, and thinks as he groans out his release that it might be what angers him most of all.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

His father was withdrawn in the weeks that followed his return from Azkaban. To Draco, he almost didn't seem like the same person. His red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, pallid complexion, and the ever-present drink in his hand was not something he was accustomed to seeing. Not that he saw much of the man anyway. If his father wasn't avoiding him, he would have been truly surprised. 

"Draco."

His father's cold, clipped voice, only slightly slurred, sent a chill down his spine. Draco turned slowly, meeting his father's bloodshot eyes. He licked his lips nervously, his gaze flicking to the empty glass in his father's hand before the silver glint of his cane caught his eye.

"Come with me."

He turned away, expecting Draco to follow, knowing that he would. He was too afraid of his father not to obey. Draco had the sudden, fervent wish that his father had continued to avoid him still. Even without his wand, his father was not a man to be taken lightly, especially when Draco's inheritance relied on remaining in his father's good graces.

The door of his father's study shut behind them, and the click of the lock sounded like a death knell. Draco knew what it meant. His mother was out again, and for the first time in weeks the manor wasn't crawling with Death Eaters, and still, his father had taken the extra step of engaging the lock. Their conversation would remain between them, confined within the walls of the study.

Draco grimaced in discomfort. His father's fingers were like steel on the back of his neck. His whiskey-laced breath stirred his hair, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"We're going to have a little chat, son. One that's long overdue," his father murmured in that low, terrifying voice as he steered Draco towards the sitting area.

He guided Draco, none too gently, down onto one of the sofas, before moving to refill his glass. Draco was unsure if it was a blessing that his father sat him down across from the sofa where he engaged his boys, because he wasn't sure that looking at it and remembering was any better than being forced to sit on it. He sat stiffly, watching apprehensively as his father drained the glass and filled it again before he came to stand in front of him. His father began to pace back and forth, cane thumping against the carpeted floorboards. He glanced at Draco occasionally before continuing as though attempting to work up the nerve to finally address the secret between them.

His father paused, setting down his glass with a clink on the nearby end table. He sighed, and bowed his head. Draco gasped suddenly, shrinking back into the cushions. In a move so quick and graceful he seemed not to have moved at all, his father was on him, hands tearing at the collar of his shirt.

"Father what are you-" Draco exclaimed in fear, trying vainly to shield himself. 

"Stop!" he pleaded, but the damage was done.

His father stared down at his ripped-open shirt, blush lace peeking from beneath the black silk. His fingertips hovered a millimeter away before he closed his hand into a fist and pulled away.

"How long, Draco?"

"Father I-"

The back of his father's hand struck Draco across the cheek, and he whimpered as his flesh grew hot.

"How long has this been going on, hmm?" he hissed, pressing the polished wood of his cane down across Draco's throat.

Draco scrabbled at the weapon, tried to push his father off, thrashed beneath the man, but he was so much stronger, even diminished as he seemed to be. He'd never before feared that his father might actually kill him.

"-lev...en…," he breathed, praying to Merlin and every god he knew that his father wasn't too far gone to stop.

The pressure on his throat lessened, enough for Draco to draw a ragged breath. "What?"

"Eleven," he repeated a little louder, relief flooding through him when his father drew back in disbelief and he could breathe again.

"You've been spying on me since…,"

"No." Draco sat up slowly, rubbing his throat. "I didn't know, not until I came home for Christmas forth-year, but that's not what you asked. I was eleven, and I found- I found some old mirror, and when I looked into it, it showed me things."

His father's eyes widened in surprise, and curiously, recognition flickered in their depths. "What things?"

"You… and… and me." Draco ducked his head in shame. Now that he was finally confessing to his father aloud, he realized just how sick he sounded.

"This mirror? Where did you find it? Here?"

Draco shook his head, unable to look up. "At school."

"And did this mirror have any strange writing on it, perhaps?"

At this question, and the odd lilt in his father's voice, Draco finally looks up. "How did you know?"

His father draws back and stands, stares down at him still sprawled out on the sofa. He turns away, reaching for his glass with a shaking hand, and Draco's heart breaks all over again.

"Do you know what Azkaban is, Draco?" his father asks, voice barely more than a whisper. 

"Everyone knows, father."

"Do you know what it does to a person?" he continues, as if Draco hadn't spoken at all. "What  _ they _ do?"

"The Dementors?"

Draco can see the way his father flinches at the mere mention of the dark creatures. His shoulders hunch and Draco knows that he's fighting back tears, attempting to not break down, and failing in a way he never expected his father to fail before.

"They take everything good, hollow you out until there's nothing left but hatred and self-loathing and guilt."

His father's voice breaks on the last word, and Draco realizes then the look of shame and disgust that has haunted him all this time had not been directed at him. His father drains his glass one last time, knocking it back in one go, and carefully sets it aside again. 

Draco sits up slightly as his father turns back towards him. He doesn't have time to do more than gasp in shock before he is on him again. He can hear the dull thud of the cane landing on the floor at his feet, but then there are hands at his throat. His father's fingers dig into the base of his skull, pressing to the point of pain until he lets go abruptly, scrubs a hand over his stubbled face and murmurs, half to himself, "Gods, this is so  _ fucking _ wrong."

Draco gapes, slack-jawed like a fish tossed on dry land. It couldn't be. Could it? And then his father is there, pressed against him intimately again as though compelled. The tongue that slips between his parted lips tastes like whiskey, just as it did moments earlier, and the ragged moan his father releases sets his heart thundering in his chest.

His hands tear at Draco's shirt again, stripping the ruined silk from his shoulders, only this time, his father's hands roam with intent. Draco whimpers when strong fingers find their way to his right nipple, thumb rubbing at the hardened little nub in just the way Draco has dreamed. Gods, he hopes he isn't dreaming now.

His father straddles his waist, pinning him down, plundering his mouth all the while his hand cradles the back of his head to hold him still.

Draco breaks away reluctantly.

"I don't understand," he murmurs, breathless as he clutches at his father's robes. "I saw you… I thought… I mean we-"

It doesn't make sense that his father would want him now, not when Draco knows what gets him off, and considering the way his father's eyes drink in the sight of his chest heaving beneath the delicate lace of his bustier, his tastes haven't changed one bit.

"They took everything," his father begins slowly, "everything worthwhile; and all they left was-"

"Guilt, I know. You said."

"Yes guilt…," his father confirms, "and anything buried beneath." 

His gaze flicks upward to lock onto Draco's own, imploring him to understand. 

Draco pushes lightly at his father's chest, and it's with great reluctance that his father draws back to sit beside him.

"So, what do you remember?"

"Before?" He only shakes his head. "That night? Everything."

His father licks his lips.

"The way you looked..."

His gaze wanders again as he looks his fill.

"The way you felt…"

His fingers twitch on his thigh like he wants to reach out and touch.

"Everything."

Draco swallows the lump in his throat, reaching out to gingerly place his hand on his father's thigh. "And you want that again?"

"No," his father whispers as he takes Draco's hand and guides him to his knees. "I want so much more."

He leans forward, capturing Draco's lips, and Draco's eyes flutter closed as he leans into it, relishing the closeness until he can no longer ignore the one, remaining, unspoken truth.

"I can't give you what you want, father…"

Draco expects him to balk at his use of the endearment. If he's honest, it's why he said it, a test of sorts, but there is only a low moan just before his father captures his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I'm not sure that's entirely true." He cups Draco's cheek, strokes his thumb tenderly across his lips to soothe the sting.

"At this particular moment, I want nothing more than this sinful little mouth swallowing down my cock."

Draco's stomach clenches painfully in want. He has to look away from the overwhelming desire reflected in his father's eyes.

"Not here. Please," Draco pleads. It isn't that he's opposed to the idea of his father taking him right here and now, but he wants- no, he needs for it to not be here. Not this time. If this was it, and his father couldn't bear to touch him afterwards...

His father takes a deep breath and let's it out slowly.

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think there's only one more chapter left. Maybe an epilogue/coda but we're coming down to the wire. If there are any final requests for the last chapter, which is will pretty much be ALL smut, now is the time!


End file.
